


The Soldier and His Servant

by wandarox



Series: The Soldier and His Servant [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Arab Character, Deaf Character, F/M, Het and Slash, Historical Fantasy, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Military, Prostitution, Servants, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 134,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandarox/pseuds/wandarox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raheed is bhanak, a "slave soldier" who was bought, educated, and trained by the Mulli empire to pillage and conquer surrounding nations. When stationed in the rural town of Khafa, befriends an odd beggar boy, Asan, who lacks both speech and hearing. Together, Raheed and Asan craft a rudimentary sign language to communicate, at least before Raheed is whisked away to war. After witnessing the death and horror of battle, Raheed returns several years later no longer the carefree boy from before-- but then again, Asan is not left unscarred by his own experiences either. Raheed decides to take Asan back to the capital with him, where Asan can work as a servant to earn his keep while Raheed advances his position in the military. A fierce yet complicated bond grows between them, though neither sees it the same way as the other. Eventually, it is not just their loyalties to a nation that is tested, but also their loyalty to one another. M/M and M/F</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bread

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : This story is not historical. I have taken influences from Middle Eastern geography, dress, and customs, but many of the details are made-up. The idea of the "bhanak" is actually based on the Ottoman Empire's Kapikulu, a personal slave army started by Murad in the 14th century, which I learned about in my Islamic art class. The Mulli Empire is loosely based upon what I learned of the Ottoman Empire. Their religion is not Islam, but of course it is similar because so much of Islam has affected Middle Eastern customs and traditions (such as their mosques). Despite the fact that it's not Islam, I will use "caliph" and "sultan", even though the caliphate are technically the descendants of Muhammad. I do not proclaim to have thorough knowledge of anything beyond my imagination, however, for all you history buffs out there.
> 
>  **Second Disclaimer** : The characters start out as seventeen and eleven. Absolutely nothing sexual of nature happens to these characters when they are under the age of 18.
> 
>  
> 
> **Critique is welcome!**

**Chapter One: Bread**

 

            “Seventeen and headstrong” were very accurate words to call Raheed, though only Elder Hassad said such with any affection. Raheed’s skill, quick wit, and bravery were considered perfect for soldiering, but his curiosity and independence were hindrances at best. However, Raheed was bought and trained to be a soldier—it was the only thing he would ever be. So he was told to work on his flaws and embrace his talents. He did more of the latter and very little of the former.

            Raheed went to the market when expressly told not to. He had not expected the scorn that greeted him, the glares and the hidden whispers. They spoke a form of Aillic that Raheed did not understand, but their dialects had some similar words, so he did as well as he could. He was not a shy person, so even when some of the shopkeepers frowned and charged him more for their goods than others, he did his best to charm them. His superiors were always reminding them that they represented the empire, so Raheed thought it best if he show the empire’s compassionate, human side. Even if it didn’t have much of one.

            “Three _immas_ ,” said a heavily veiled woman selling pomegranates.

            “Two,” Raheed countered. It didn’t matter much to him. Things were much cheaper here than they were in Ayllamal, even when he was overcharged.

            The woman’s face was partially obscured, but he could tell she was glaring at him. Finally with a huff she nodded and handed him a fruit. He accepted the gift with a smile and a nod.

            “ _Raheed_.”

            He turned and found Jhali approaching him.

            “What?” he asked as Jhali threw an arm around his neck and tugged Raheed to his side. Jhali’s eyes were full of mischief.

            “Tonight we are going down to the tavern. You should come with.”

            “What tav—” Raheed paused and threw a doubtful glance at his friend. “I already told you no.”

            “Oh, come on, Raheed!” Jhali replied with a laugh, raising a hand to ruffle Raheed’s hair. “You are old enough. Don’t you want to be a man at last?”

            Raheed frowned. “Jhali . . .”

            “What else will you be doing?”

            Raheed shrugged as he pulled his dirk from his belt and attempted to carve into the pomegranate. “Sergeant Azim is always calling me stupid. Perhaps I will read to ameliorate that.”

            Jhali rolled his eyes, then paused to consider some roasted mutton. The man who cooked the meat over an open fire pit seemed rather hostile to Jhali’s presence, but said nothing and accepted Jhali’s money. In the meantime, a flash of movement in the corner of his eye caught Raheed’s attention.

            There were several donkey carts parked along the tall, baked clay walls that were prevalent in the area. Behind them stood a young boy, looking sheepish as he eyed the mutton. Face dirty and clothing soiled, it was clear the boy was either orphaned or cursed with some devastating family circumstances. Raheed had experienced intense hunger before—every soldier of the empire did, especially crossing the Red Dessert—but he had never seen it so clear in a boy’s eyes. He looked tentative as well, throwing nervous glances at Raheed and Jhali. Raheed could not blame him, as Raheed and Jhali, though mere privates, were decked out in traditional Mulli Empire military garb, robes far more elaborate than anyone but a wealthy man in this part of the world could afford. Not to mention the steel scimitars tied to their belts. It wad probably enough to make any beggar wary, even the old wizened kind.

            Raheed turned to the boy and smiled, tipping his head pleasantly. The boy ducked down and hid behind a donkey cart, vanishing from view.

            “I don’t think it’s that good, really,” Jhali grumbled as he chewed on his mutton. “Overcooked. Mutton is better in Ayllamal.”

            “All food is better in Ayllamal,” Raheed said distractedly, still straining his neck to see the boy.

            “What are you looking for?”

            Raheed sighed. “Oh, nothing I suppose.”

 

*

 

            Night crawled across the sky like a glittering mist, bringing relief to the burned soles of the beggar boy’s feet. Many people seemed to avoid the night, but the boy liked it best. It made travel easier.

            He waited by the donkey carts until the man who cooked the mutton packed up and stepped back inside his small hovel, where his skinny young wife would probably be waiting for him. They seemed to alternate watching the fire pit, though the boy liked it best when the husband watched over commerce. He was clumsy, so sometimes he would drop scraps.

            The boy was leaning over the fire pit picking out bits of charred meat when light flooded his feet. He looked up to find the husband standing over him swinging a broom fiercely above his head. It landed twice on either side of the boy’s shoulders before the boy was able to scramble away. At first he thought he had escaped, but then the broom handle landed on him again, this time striking so painfully that the boy fell to his knees, scraping the skin against the cobblestone. He tried to stand, but the man had a fistful of his hair now, holding him down so that he could land several blows across the boy’s ribs and back.

            Suddenly, the punches stopped. The boy rolled over and found his attacker sprawled on the ground in a similar fashion, glaring up at whatever dark figure stood between him and his prey. The boy crawled under the donkey cart and watched through the spokes of the wheel. The man climbed to a stand, his face red with anger, his mouth moving frantically, his shoulders tense. He terrified the boy, but the stranger who stood beside the donkey cart now was not easily intimidated. The boy could not see him well from here, especially in the dark, but the boy didn’t stay long enough to find out. He pulled himself out from underneath the cart and started to run in the opposite direction.      

            He ran until he reached the edge of town, which did not take long in a place so small. All that lay in the horizon now were the stars and the silhouettes of a camel herd grazing on shrubs. If he kept running, he knew he’d reach the fort where the empire soldiers were stationed. He knew to never go there.

            Suddenly something grabbed him from behind. He swung around and clawed at his captor, but he wasn’t up against the usual ill-fed peasant. Before he could struggle for long, he was pinned to the rocky earth, a knee on his back and a grip keeping his hands twisted behind his back.

            There was a long pause. His captor might be trying to say something but of course the boy wouldn’t understand him even if they shared the same language. So he twisted and pulled, only to be flipped over.

            It was the soldier from the marketplace this afternoon, the one with the unruly curls and the pomegranate. The boy hated the soldiers. He hated the villagers as well, but the soldiers were cruel _and_ strange, so he avoided them at all costs. They had beaten him for begging before, as if they were rulers in this land. The boy knew enough to realize that they were only invaders, unwelcome. No one wanted them here.

            There was a bright moon tonight, so it was relatively easy to see the soldier’s features. He was younger than most of them, probably not even eighteen. His beard was only half-formed, but the boy knew that empire soldiers always had beards. Each rank had a different kind, so the boy figured it had something to do with that. It was one of the many ways to tell the difference between an empire soldier and a villager. The men in his village shaved their facial hair.

            The soldier was saying something to him, but the boy just glared. All he could do was wait for his punishment.

 

*

             

            “You don’t understand a word I say, do you?” Raheed said helplessly, then sighed. What was he even _doing_? Why had he tackled some poor beggar boy?  Perhaps because Raheed couldn’t stand being feared, which would strike his fellow soldiers as hilarious. A soldier who didn’t like being feared, how extraordinary!

            Raheed didn’t mind terrifying enemies. Terrifying what looked to be a ten-year-old orphan boy was another thing.

            Slowly, Raheed stood, releasing the boy. The boy moved to dart away, but Raheed grabbed the front of his tunic to stop him. Right before the boy clawed at him again, Raheed reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of bread. That was why he had returned in the first place: to feed the beggar.

            The boy stared at the bread, the fight draining from him instantly. Despite this, his cautious nature never wavered, so the boy kept his eyes on Raheed as he slowly reached out to take the bread.

            “It’s not poisonous,” Raheed said stupidly, as if the boy could understand.

            Once the boy took the bread, it disappeared into his mouth instantly. When Raheed released the boy’s tunic, the boy took off at a sprint, somehow avoiding prickly shrubs in his bare feet. Within moments, the boy had vanished.

            A camel in the distance bellowed as a cool breeze pulled at Raheed’s heavy robes. Sighing, he began his long walk back to the fort.

           

*

 

            Raheed could remember bits and pieces about his mother, as well as his homeland’s tongue. Most of his fellow soldiers could recall the same. Raheed had taken to reacquainting himself with the language with a few other of the men in the camp who spoke it, though most were hesitant to engage him. It was an unspoken truth in the military: the past was best left in the past. The empire had fed them, trained them, taught them, gave them a soft bed to sleep and comrades to rely upon. While some others considered them slaves, Raheed had never seen it that way. Instead, he was more likely to speak ill of his mother, who had sold him to pay family debts. Perhaps she had been thinking of his best interests; after all, he had been taken care of, even given that coveted education few people outside of high Mulli society could receive. But he held onto resentment because he did not remember her enough to feel love or betrayal.

            Perhaps this was why Raheed thought of the orphan the next day as he took breakfast with several friends. Any child without parents shared more in common with Raheed than many might think.

            “Where were _you_ last night, Raheed?” asked Kavin, adjusting the cushion on which he sat and taking an inappropriately large sip of his jasmine tea.

            Jhali snorted as he blew on his bowl of java beans and lentils. “He wasn’t with us, that’s for sure.”

            “Getting into mischief I hope.”

            Raheed frowned. “Not really.”

            Habib stepped into the tent, yawning and stretching. “I cannot wait until we are stationed elsewhere. There is _nothing_ in this village worth doing. Unless you enjoy fucking camels.”

            Kavin laughed as Jhali tossed a cushion at a half-dressed Habib.

            “Get yourself decent, you barbarian,” Jhali joked. “I will say that some of the women at the whorehouses _look_ like camels though. Can barely bring myself to touch one.”

            “I’m sure you manage. You always do.”

            “At least they’re cheap.” Jhali spooned some beans into his mouth and grinned. “One day I’ll be made general and I’ll get the most beautiful whores in the world, mark my word.”

            “Keep up your poor performance and you’ll be fucking camels into eternity.”

            This banter was routine by now, as his companions never wasted an opportunity to spar, be it with wit or swords. It wasn’t like there was action to be had elsewhere. Everyone knew that newly inducted soldiers were sent to these outposts for a reason: lack of experience. No one trusted them to conquer anything when some of them couldn’t even hold a sword in the right direction. Raheed could, but he’d been a _bhanak_ , a “bought soldier”, for much longer than most of these men.

            Raheed finished off his tea and bread and stepped out of the tent, wincing at the harsh sunlight that struck him. Of course heat and sunlight were nothing new to him, but both were particularly brutal in these lands, which stood at the very edge of the vast Red Desert.

            The arrival of an officer was marked by the sound of hoof beats. Raheed watched with envy and curiosity as the man rode past on a gleaming black stallion, its tack draped with tassels and embroidery. While Jhali looked forward to beautiful whores in his future, Raheed yearned for a horse of his own. He knew how to ride them—every _bhanak_ was taught horseback riding—but only men of high status could own them. It was one of the few things any man of the military could own, so they were understandably treasured.

            Raheed hoped that the officer might bring news of some action, but the day progressed as always. There was nothing much to do beyond basic chores and a few training sessions. After noon, the heat was too intense to do much more than sleep, so that was what most of the soldiers did. Jhali shared his exploits with whores the night before, tales that struck Raheed as somewhat arousing. He tried to ignore it, still somewhat bitter at Mulli laws, which forbid land ownership or marriage for any man who did not have a paternal family name. As most soldiers were _bhanak_ who surrendered all family titles upon purchase, very few of them had anything but whores to look forward to. Raheed knew he’d have to give in eventually. He just hoped it would be with a girl who didn’t resemble a camel.

            When the heat began to abate, Raheed went back to the town, another small piece of bread tied in a canvas bag he carried under his robes. There weren’t many people in the village; maybe he’d see the beggar boy again.

            Raheed assumed he’d have to search, but a scene in the market revealed the orphan boy immediately. The boy in question was huddled on the ground with his arms over his head as two children, one the boy’s age and another younger, pelted him with stones. Nearby their mother stood, watching calmly. It appeared that the violence occurred with her approval.

            For a moment Raheed wondered if he could intervene, then decided that he was a soldier of the Mulli empire, which now encompassed this small territory. Of course he had the authority! And no one else had a sword, so who would stop him?  
            “What you doing?” Raheed asked in garbled Aillab, their dialect of Aillic.

            The woman glared at him. “Possessed by the devil.”

            “What?” Raheed asked. Despite being raised and mentored by Elder Hassad, a cleric, Raheed himself was not very religious. “Get away from him!”

            The children took one look at him and bolted. Townspeople learned quickly not to interfere with Mulli soldiers.

            “You too,” Raheed growled. “Go.”

            “Demon child,” the woman hissed at the beggar boy. “Be gone!”

            “Leave us,” Raheed ordered, pulling himself to his full height. He was young, but he was already bigger than most of the village folk.

            The woman shuffled away, grumbling under her breath. Raheed approached the boy, who jumped up and looked prepared to run. Raheed instantly pulled out the bread and offered it to him, though he couldn’t ignore the rivulets of blood that ran down the boy’s arm and cheek. His eyes were wide and terrified.

            “Want some?” Raheed asked.

            The boy, much like a stray dog, crept forward and darted out to grab the bread. He moved as if to run away, then paused and looked over his shoulder at Raheed. Raheed pulled his robes around him, concealing his scimitar.

            “You don’t look like a demon child.” Raheed paused and attempted to speak Aillab. “What’s your name?”

            The boy just stared at him, though his eyes lowered briefly to Raheed’s mouth, his brow folding in confusion.

            “What’s your name?” Raheed repeated, this time slower, wondering if he was saying it correctly.

            The boy seemed to comprehend this time, but he only shrugged.

            “You don’t have a name?” Raheed frowned. “Why not?”

            The boy continued to stare.

            Maybe he was dim-witted. Considering the average intelligence of these village people, it wouldn’t be unusual. Raheed peered closer, deciding that there _was_ intelligence in his eyes, but it was mostly hidden by fear and confusion.

            Raheed sighed and watched the boy finish off his bread. What was Raheed doing? Was his ennui so intense that he’d taken to engaging dumb beggar boys in one-sided conversations? This had not been in his job description. But even if it had, he supposed he couldn’t have argued against it.

            “I wonder why people think you’re possessed,” Raheed wondered out loud.  
“I know they can be simpletons, but you seem relatively harmless to me.”

            The boy didn’t seem phased by Raheed’s speaking. He didn’t even look up from his bread consumption.

            “I don’t suppose you can conjure any spells then? It would be mighty interesting if you could . . .” Raheed trailed off, then sighed. “I’m talking to myself, aren’t I?”

            The boy smacked his lips and held out his hand, palm up. More bread.

            “I don’t have any more,” Raheed said with a shake of his head.

            The boy frowned, pulling his hand back. He paused, as if considering taking off again, but then he bowed his head slightly and made a sound deep in his throat. Raheed had not clue what it meant, but he nodded at the boy in acknowledgment of the gesture. After a small smile touched the boy’s mouth, the boy took off, his bare feet navigating the hot cobblestone with the dexterity of a gazelle.

           

*

 

            It didn’t take long before the boy was stalking Raheed. It seemed like every time he stepped through the town gates, Raheed was greeted almost immediately by the beggar boy, the boy’s hand outstretched and his eyes plaintive. Raheed stopped bringing bread in hopes the boy would go away, but the boy still followed him, albeit at a distance. His shadow was so constant that Raheed’s fellow soldiers began to notice and question it.

            “Who’s the runt?” Habib asked, jerking a thumb behind them. Raheed turned and found the beggar boy ducking behind a wall.

            “Raheed has an _admirer_ , how cute,” Jhali crooned, lips puckered.

            “He’s a ten-year-old boy, so no.”

            “Maybe he thinks you’re his mother.”

            “You should wrap him in a blanket and sing him to sleep.”

            Raheed frowned. “Shut up, both of you. I think he’s wrong in the head.”

            “Something you have in common then!” Habib exclaimed with a chuckle, patting Raheed on the back.

            “You can’t talk.”

            “Hmm.” Jhali stopped, grabbing Raheed’s sleeve to stop him as well. “Do you think you could get him to do something for me?”

            “Jhali . . .”

            “Nothing much, really. Just a little test.” Jhali crooked a finger at the boy, whose eyes could be seen peering from around a corner. “Come here, boy!”

            Raheed shoved Jhali lightly. “Just leave it.”

            But the boy was already approaching, looking both sheepish and stubborn at once. His fists were clenched at his sides as he came forward, shoulders hunched and head bowed. He stopped meekly before Jhali who, as one of the tallest and most powerful boys for his age, clearly intimidated him.

            “See that stall over there selling figs?” Jhali pointed to a nearby stall. The boy’s gaze followed his finger. “Can you take one for me?”

            “Jhali,” Raheed said firmly. Jhali waved him away dismissively.

            “I’m sure you’ve stolen things before, being a beggar boy and all. Look, the woman’s not even looking. It would be easy. And if the woman complains, we’ll protect you. People here have to respect us empire soldiers.”

            The boy looked between the stall and Jhali. Finally his eyes moved to Raheed, as if asking for confirmation. Raheed looked away. He was not the boy’s father, friend, or mentor. If the boy wanted to steal a fig for some stupid dare, that was his own responsibility.

            “You understand me?” Jhali asked. His Aillab was much better than Raheed’s. “You steal a fig. For me.” Jhali dug into his robes and then pulled out a single copper coin. Coins were a novelty this far from the empire, as trade remained the primary method of payment. As much as the people here pretended to resent Mulli presence, they sure did love Mulli money. In Ayllamal, a copper coin would buy a bracelet or trinket. Here, it could buy you an entire bag of figs. “I’ll give you this if you do.”

            Habib had gone silent, waiting for the boy’s reaction with a smug smile. Jhali raised his eyebrows, a challenge.

            The boy looked between the coin and the stall, then back again. Then he slunk away, slowly moving closer to the stall as the shopkeeper turned to the goat she had tied nearby.   

            “He’s actually doing it,” Habib chuckled. “I can’t believe it.”

            “Khafans are known for being simpletons,” Jhali replied in a low voice. “They are impressed by any mark of higher culture, be it literacy or a silly copper coin.”

            “Shh, shh, look,” Habib hissed, pointing as he ducked behind Jhali. “Look.”

            Quick as a hare, the boy’s hand darted out and snatched up a fig. For a moment Raheed thought he’d get away with it, as the shopkeeper was still facing the other way. But there was suddenly a shout from another stall and a heavyset white-haired man charged forward, his cane already raised for the blow.

            “Shit,” Jhali barked, pulling Raheed and Habib backward. “Let’s get out of here.”

            Raheed tried to escape Jhali’s grip, but Jhali was strong and determined. By the time Raheed was able to shake him off, they were already around the corner and headed for the town gate.

            “Jhali! You said you’d protect him!”

            “Are you kidding me? And get in trouble with the sergeant?” Jhali snatched up a handful of Raheed’s robes, hauling him forward. “Not for an idiotic Khafan.”

            Raheed paused but decided to follow them. Perhaps now the boy would stop following him like an annoying dog.

            Raheed never should have shared that bread.


	2. Peace

            **Chapter Two: Peace**  


            Raheed couldn’t sleep. He rolled over several times, tried counting goats, attempted to cover his eyes with an arm. None of it worked. Finally, sick of Kavin’s snoring, he slipped off his sleeping pad and crept out of the tent, into the dark night.

            There was a night watch, but Raheed surpassed that easily, as he knew the two men who guarded the gate. They thought nothing of his midnight walks. He’d had plenty before.

            Despite the heat in Ayllamal, there was plenty of green grass and sparkling water. Here there was only baked earth and monstrous dunes on the horizon. At first Raheed hated it, and while he still resented the scorpion who enjoyed using his pillow as a rock to sleep beneath, he’d grown to love the desert night. The world had never gone so silent. Sometimes it felt like a dream.

            His walk took him toward Khafa, even though it was probably dead at this hour. He watched dust swirl around his feet and curled his robes tighter around him to keep warm. The walls of Khafa grazed the velvet starry sky of night, looking miniscule in comparison.

            In the distance, Raheed saw the usual herd of camels, many of them asleep. A few remained standing, as was customary for any prey animal. One was the bull, the one who always moaned and kept Raheed awake at night. The bull turned to Raheed and stared at him, jaw slowly grinding his cud.

            Raheed glared at the camel. “What are you looking at?”  
            Suddenly the bull turned and looked to something in the opposite direction. Raheed huffed and drew his robes tighter about him, then noticed that the camel was not just staring at specters. By the light of the moon, Raheed was able to see someone clambering along the bank of dried riverbed, sobbing.

            Raheed dropped the robes clutched in his fists and trotted forward, which earned a bit of a glare from the territorial bull. Luckily he didn’t tread on too many toes, because he was able to pass by the herd without any more than a bored glance. As Raheed approached, he felt he already knew who it was. Dread grew heavier as he neared the boy, whose back was facing Raheed. By now the boy had crouched by a rock and buried his head in his arms. Worried that he might be startled by Raheed’s sudden appearance, Raheed stopped and spoke.

            “Hey,” he called, softly at first, then loudly once more. So loudly that one of the camels nearby jolted and trotted a few steps before stopping. Raheed waited for the boy to acknowledge him, but the boy did not so much as flinch. His soft crying continued.

            “Hello?” Raheed asked, stepping closer. “Beggar boy?”

            The boy did not turn.

            “Hey!” Raheed shouted this time. He was only a few strides away now, and yet the boy did not stir. Frowning, Raheed reached down and picked up a small rock. He flicked this at the boy’s back, hoping it was too small to inflict any harm. At contact, the boy shot to a stand and twirled around, sobs cutting off abruptly as he gaped in fear at Raheed.

            Raheed stared in confusion. Clearly the boy had not been ignoring him before, as he looked terrified now. Quickly the boy scrambled across the dried stream bed, hands stumbling across the baked earth until he was on his feet and running. The boy was quick, but Raheed was already standing and prepared. He took just two strides before he was able to reach out and grasp the boy’s thin cloak.

            “Hold up,” Raheed ordered, but the boy still struggled. There was a short grappling session, ending with the boy on his back and Raheed on top of him, holding him down. The boy whined and made sounds deep in his throat, sounds that were almost alien in nature. They were pleas, of course, but not any pleas that Raheed recognized. And that was when Raheed knew.

            The boy couldn’t _hear_.

            It struck Raheed as suddenly as a stone might. It explained everything, the boy’s inability to talk to his ignoring of Raheed’s calls. Raheed hadn’t met anyone with such an affliction, even in Ayllamal, but he decided that if there were blind beggars, there could be beggars lacking other senses. Raheed battled with a surge of questions. Was the boy always like this? Did he understand anyone at all? How could one understand another without sound, without language? Had the boy been abandoned because of such a disorder?

            Raheed had hoped to apologize to the beggar, but now he wasn’t sure how he could communicate such remorse. Perhaps if it were concrete he could gesture, but how could one ask forgiveness without the words to do so? Besides, Raheed wasn’t even sure why he felt the urge to apologize. The boy had been gullible and paid the price.

            The boy fell still at last, his large dark eyes fixed on Raheed with both trepidation and stubbornness. Even in the dark, Raheed could see how poor nutrition and occasional abuse left their marks. There was confusion there as well, and Raheed finally realized how chaotic one’s life would be without the ability to communicate. How was the boy still _alive_?

            “I don’t know how to say I’m sorry,” Raheed said softly, relaxing the muscles in his face in hopes the boy might notice. “I have no food to give you. Though I suppose . . .” Raheed wanted to reach into his robes and pull out the few coins that rattled deep within his pockets, but releasing one hand would surely resume the boy’s struggling. Raheed was struck helpless, unsure of what to do. How to keep control and beg for mercy at once?  
            “I mean you no harm,” Raheed said slowly when he saw the boy’s eyes linger on his mouth. Perhaps the boy could read lips. “Don’t struggle and I’ll let you up.”

            The boy made no sound of agreement, though his tensed muscles relaxed. Raheed released the boy’s right wrist so that he could slip his hand into his pocket and withdraw a coin.

            “This is for you if you don’t run away.” He held it up when the boy grabbed for it. “You stay here, understand?”

            The boy only stared.

            Raheed sighed and handed over the coin. The boy quickly shoved it into the poorly sewn pocket on his tunic and resumed his struggling. With a sigh, Raheed released him.

            The boy pulled himself to a sit but did not run. He looked at Raheed with both disgust and apprehension, as if torn between his old loyalty and his new betrayal.

            “I’m sorry about what I did in the market. I don’t know if you can understand a single thing I say, but I want you to know that.”

            The boy held out his hand. He wanted another coin.

            “Filthy little beggar,” Raheed mumbled, though he dug inside of his pocket and pulled out his remaining coins. “No more following me after this, is that clear?”

            The boy took the coins with a sweep of his arm and then darted away into the night, sparing Raheed not a single glance backward. Raheed could only hope that it was the last time they’d speak.

 

*

 

            The boy hated the soldier, but he was so filled with hate for everyone that the hate he held for the soldier seemed minimal by comparison. The boy understood why the villagers hated the empire soldiers now. They thought themselves above the law and cared not for the harm they inflicted on men that were not their own. The boy had hoped that perhaps the soldiers carried kindness the villagers did not understand, but he was naïve no longer.

            And yet when the soldier visited the village, the boy couldn’t help but follow again. Even after all the pain inflicted upon him, he could not resist. This time he hid in the shadows, peeking out only when the soldier was otherwise occupied. Most of the time he traveled with his companions, though sometimes alone. He seemed kinder and more considerate alone. Or perhaps the boy just convinced himself he was.

            Many days later, the soldier spotted the boy staring at him from behind a cart piled with mohair bundles. The boy ducked low shortly after, but moments later the soldier was standing above him, looking rather perturbed. The boy ran away before the soldier could grab him.

            Sometimes the boy liked to spend time with the camels at night. The shepherds would certainly beat him if they saw him near, but he knew the shepherds as drunkards who most often slept at night, so the boy dared it. The boy began to learn the personalities of the camels, which were friendly and which were shy. He was drawn to a particular young cow who once put her head in his lap as she slept. It was at that moment that the boy realized the camels had more humanity and kindness in them than the humans that guarded them. He wished that one day he could be a shepherd and spend all day with these beasts, sleeping, eating, and walking with them.

            It seemed a coincidence that the soldier should run into the boy many nights after the soldier had given him the coins. For once, the boy was not following him, just minding his own business down by the stream bed. He only noticed the soldier’s presence when the camels turned to watch.

            The boy nearly ran, but stopped when the soldier held up a hand. His mouth moved, and the boy comprehended some of it, but it was darker tonight, and he had to squint in order to see anything.

            _Name_. That much the boy understood.

            The boy shrugged. This seemed to concern the soldier. With a sweep of his arm, he gestured the boy closer. The boy was hesitant, but eventually went to the soldier’s side. He watched the soldier snap a twig from the nearby brush and crouch low, using the twig as a tool to draw in the sandy earth. His hand made large swoops, making characters that were both beautiful and mysterious.

            _Name_ , the soldier mouthed. It was the soldier’s name.

            The boy sank lower, inspecting the designs written into the earth. Dropping to his knees, he used a finger to trace the grooves in the sandy dirt. Once  or twice in his life he’d come across a bit of manuscript with the same exact perplexing designs, but he hadn’t known what they meant. Could they be words?

            Gasping, the boy reached out and grabbed a rock. He held it aloft for the soldier, his eyes wide and curious.

            For a moment the soldier seemed clueless to what the boy wanted. The boy grew frustrated and clutched the rock in his fist, trying to move his lips and make the sounds that made others understood. Finally the soldier took the fist that the boy shook and gently removed the rock from between his fingers. With a nod, he turned and began to write in the earth once more. Hungrily, the boy watched. The design consisted of three separate characters, though the boy didn’t know why. It was just a rock. Why did it require so many symbols? Even when he watched others speak of it, it seemed like such a simple word.

            The boy grabbed the stick from the soldier and drew a shaky picture of a rock, which for some reason made the soldier laugh. What was so funny? It made much more sense to draw a picture of a rock instead of write all those symbols. If everyone used pictures, then perhaps the boy would finally understand.

            The soldier began to speak, then stopped and pondered. Finally, with a folded brow, the soldier pulled the rock from his left hand but kept the fingers in the same position. It looked as if he were holding an invisible lump. This was what he showed to the boy.

            The boy lifted an eyebrow, confused.

            As if struck by inspiration, the soldier looked around him. He pulled up his stick and gestured toward it. Then he held his free arm rod straight, imitating it.

            The boy slowly began to comprehend. He looked frantically around him for another object until he grabbed the sleeve of his own mangled tunic and gestured toward it. The soldier paused, then shrugged, looking apologetic. The boy frowned and clenched the material into a fist, gesturing more enthusiastically. Finally the soldier held his hand palm down and made a waving motion. The boy mimicked as closely as he could manage. After this, he pointed at the camels in the distance, stepping closer to the soldier than he had ever dared before. When the soldier did not answer immediately, the boy began to insist vocally, producing vibrations in his throat that he saw work with others but never himself. He could read some lips, but when he tried to copy, no one could comprehend. He wanted to communicate more than anything, wanted to be understood.

            The soldier shook his head and shrugged again. The boy’s temper flared. Without thinking, he reached down and picked up a pebble to hurl at the soldier. Then, before the soldier could retaliate, the boy took off at a run, heading into the bleak darkness of the desert night.

 

*

 

            “Are you going to eat the rest of that bread?” Kavin asked.

            Raheed pushed the food toward Kavin, who grabbed and ate it greedily. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Jhali and another young soldier talk in low voices. They looked mischievous until a superior swooped down and ordered them to disperse.

            Raheed sighed and stood, picking up his sitting cushion and stashing it near his bed. He continued to sleep poorly, and his lack of energy was getting noticed all around. But recently he didn’t care much about military operations. Of course, he’d never been the greatest soldier, but his mind was now consumed with ideas. He wished he were back in Ayllamal, with Elder Hassad and his many books. Elder Hassad would know what to do.

            “Raheed.”

            Raheed jolted and turned, saluting sloppily. “Sergeant, sir.”

            Sergeant Azim looked over Raheed with a skeptic eye. He did not seem impressed with what he saw. “Let us hope we don’t get a repeat of yesterday, am I clear? You will drink plenty of water.”

            “Yeah, Raheed, don’t faint like a woman this time,” Kavin said through a full mouth.

            “Kavin, you lazy ass, get up and salute me like a proper soldier.”

            With a heavy sigh, Kavin pushed himself up and saluted sarcastically. It was a small camp, and Sergeant Azim seemed more interesting in playing chess than he did in doing drills. They were all poorly disciplined, said visiting officers. How much discipline did one need so far from home? Who was there to impress?

            “I won’t faint again,” Raheed said.

            The sergeant nodded. “I hope your midnight walks have nothing to do with your aberrant behavior.”

            Raheed tried not to react. “No, sir. I simply enjoy the solitude.” He turned to Kavin. “Away from these idiots.”

            Kavin snorted and rolled his eyes.

            “We can all understand that.” Sergeant Azim gave Kavin a pointed look. “Do not let it affect your performance, am I clear?”

            Raheed nodded. Someone called to Sergeant Azim from beyond the tent, so he nodded at Raheed’s departing salute and strode back into the sunlight.

            “Sergeant’s pet,” Kavin said with puckered lips.

            “Shut up,” Raheed grumbled as he too left the tent, headed in Jhali’s direction. The sunlight burned his tired eyes, but his stride did not slow.

            “Hello, princess,” Jhali greeted to the few snickers of his companions. “Having a pleasant morning?”

            “How does Sergeant Azim know I go for walks in the evening?”

            Jhali rolled his eyes. “ _The whole camp_ knows, Raheed. There are guards that watch you leave, remember?”

            “You didn’t tell him then?”

            “I have better things to do with my time then blather on about your nightly wanderings. Where do you go, anyway?” He lifted his heavy eyebrows. “Is there a woman?”

            “No.”

            “A camel perhaps?”

            Raheed reached out and knocked the helmet off of Jhali’s head. His men around him laughed, then dispersed, some clapping Raheed on the back. There was a strong sense of comradery around them, as they were the only Mullis in a hundred mile radius.

            The day moved slowly, but Raheed’s mind churned. When he was granted the rare period of privacy, he would find objects and create gestures for them. Then he’d scold himself for even caring. Then he’d return to the attractive idea of creating his own secret language, one only he and the beggar boy could understand.

            He did not want to be conspicuous, so he only left camp two nights a week. When he did, he found the boy near the dried up river bed. Thus began an unspoken schedule. Raheed brought with him spare bits of parchment and a thin stick of charcoal to draw with. He and the boy would sit by a broad rock and use it as a flat surface to draw upon. This way Raheed could draw items he could not describe, then invent hand motions to match it. At first the boy was confused and frustrated, but he slowly began to comprehend. As his understanding broadened, so did his thirst for knowledge. At first, he was tentative, afraid to approach Raheed with too much enthusiasm. Within several weeks he was running to greet Raheed, smiling and gesturing wildly.

            Raheed didn’t know why he did it. The thought of it troubled him during the day. What was the point of spending so much time trying to talk to a single poor Khafan? What was there to gain? Within a year or so, Raheed would be transferred to another camp and he would never see the boy again. Perhaps it was his environment that spurred him to action. Raheed had grown up digesting poetry, history, religion, and, yes, the art of war. He had been a pupil, always learning, his mind constantly challenged. Now in the middle of this godforsaken desert, there was nothing to occupy one’s mind with. That, Raheed decided, was why he went—boredom.

            As time continued, though, there was another reason he went. He began to feel affection for the boy, the affection a teacher might feel for his enthusiastic pupil. Raheed enjoyed his Mulli companions very much, but sometimes they were crude, disrespectful, crass. The boy held a certain child-like innocence that appealed to Raheed. Because a part of Raheed shared that. Elder Hassad had called Raheed a gentle spirit in a soldier’s body. With the beggar boy, he could release a bit of his inner lamb after long hot days of fostering his inner lion.

            It took several months, but Raheed finally settled upon a name for the boy. _Asan_. It was an antiquated Aillic word meaning _peace_. Few would recognize it, as it had fallen out of favor in the past hundred years. But Raheed held onto the particular memory of running to Elder Hassad to ask for its definition. He could not think of a way to tell Asan about his new name, however, not when they had not yet created an alphabet or writing system. Perhaps it would solely remain as a private reference, a name to attach to the memory of the boy whose education kept Raheed’s curious mind pleasantly busy.


	3. Friends

             Asan crouched over the earth, running his fingers along the cracks in the dried mud. He would have liked to see the camels today, but they were nowhere within view. Perhaps the shepherds had begun their yearly trek to Hahl, which was where the shepherds would buy spices and goods to be sold in the marketplace in Khafa. Asan already missed the camels. There were some donkeys and goats, but they were not the same.

            Asan looked up and found a glowing orb in the distance. There was no moon tonight, but Asan was rather comfortable in the dark, so he’d made his way out here without a flame. Apparently Raheed hadn’t such a talent.

            Unable to stifle the smile that split his face, Asan stood and approached the dark figure. He had memorized Raheed’s stride and stature by now, making it easy to pick him out anywhere, even if he wasn’t draped in his usual Mulli robes.

            Raheed waved, Asan as well. _Hello_.

            _More drawings_? Asan asked, excited to see the bound book that Raheed carried. They had graduated from scraps of parchment to an actual leather book that Raheed had purchased in town for this purpose.

            Raheed nodded. _Yes_.

            Asan enjoyed drawing as much as he enjoyed learning new words. He was getting better at it as well, much to Raheed’s frustration. Raheed was a competent artist, Asan believed, but clearly Asan had a bit more born talent.

They had moved beyond drawings of simple objects and now were working on more abstract concepts, which were not so easy to imitate with hand gestures. Things like _more, less, good, bad, kind, mean_ and so on. It required imagination and a good memory to recall them all several nights later.

            Raheed and Asan went to their usual spot at the foot of the broad rock and spread out their materials. Asan shivered in the chill but didn’t mind. He had lived eleven years melting in the sunlight and turning to ice at night.

            _Cold_? Raheed asked.

            Asan shook his head stubbornly.

            Raheed sighed and began to remove the heavy cloak draped across his shoulders. Asan didn’t argue, as this happened many a chilly night before. Raheed offered his cloak, Asan refused, Raheed gave it to him anyway. Asan took the cloak and buried himself deep inside of it, reveling in its warmth. There was enough  material there to make a tent, especially for Asan, who despite Raheed’s occasional generosity, stayed thin and small for his age.

            Asan knew of human cruelty more than he knew of its kindness, but he also knew of loneliness. Not even hatred of others could keep him from wanting their approval. He wanted to hate Raheed, especially for the actions in the marketplace, but as Raheed was an older male, Asan felt desperate for his guidance. He could hardly remember his mother, let alone any father. He was greatly envious of the boys who were taught to hunt, fight, and protect from their proud figures of authority.

            _You have father_? Asan asked as Raheed paused in his drawings.

            Raheed started, then frowned. He shook his head. _Father and Mother gone_.

            _Gone where?_

Raheed shrugged. _My mother_ . . . His hands stalled. Then he turned to the book and began to scribble rather poor renditions of human beings, mostly circles for heads with stick bodies. Asan watched Raheed draw some coins, and another man who had several similarly sized stick figures beside him. When Asan did not understand, Raheed drew chains connecting them.

            Asan gaped. _What is word_? He demanded.

            _What do you want_?

            Asan thought for a moment, then held up his hands as if shackled.

            _That is already the gesture for prisoner._

Asan kept his wrists together, then positioned his hands so that they were perpendicular to one another, as if making a cross. Raheed nodded.

            “Slave,” he said, moving his lips around the word. Raheed was attempting to teach Asan how words were said so that he might understand others without gestures. Asan found it very difficult, despite the few elementary words he could already read.

            _It is sad_ , Asan replied.

            _No, not very. I am educated and never hungry_.

            _But you have no father or mother,_ Asan replied.

            _No_.

            _Me neither. I am not a slave._

 _But you are hungry and you are not educated_.

            Asan frowned. _I am educated now._

Raheed shook his head, then wrote a line in the mysterious script that only scholars could understand. Raheed pointed to it. _I can read_. _You cannot_.

            _Teach me_.

            _Not yet,_ Raheed said.

            _I want to learn._

At this, Raheed smiled slightly. _You have time_.

            Asan supposed that were true. In this desert, the only thing in ready supply was time.

*

 

            “So, Raheed. Off to see your midnight princess?” whispered a voice in the darkness as Raheed slipped into his civilian shoes, which were nothing more than flimsy sandals.

            “Yes, I suppose,” Raheed replied, turning and looking the direction of Jhali’s bed. “She only turns into a princess at night. During the day she is an ordinary camel.”

            Jhali snorted, then pushed himself up into a crouch. Kavin and Habib continued to sleep soundly.

            “I’d like to see that. Can I come with?”

            “No.”

            “Perhaps we can take turns with her.”

            It was too dark to see Raheed’s glare, but he sent one anyway.

            “Raheed, where do you go on these nights?”  
            “I told you. For a walk.”

            “For _months_? As if you need the exercise.”  
            “I need the solitude after spending every day with you idiots.”

            Jhali stood and stepped over Kavin’s prostrate body to Raheed’s side. He was still taller and broader than Raheed, the patch of hair on his chin identifying him as a young soldier thicker than most of the other boys’. It was no secret that Jhali was preferred by most of the officers, despite his sometimes deplorable attitude. No one could wield a sword, ride a horse, or shoot an arrow with half of his proficiency. It was clear that Jhali was born for war.

            “So why can I not come with you just once?”

            “Don’t you know what _solitude_ is?”

            “I won’t talk. We will enjoy each other’s companionable silence.”

            Raheed sighed. If Kavin or Habib had asked, perhaps he’d consider telling them the truth. But he couldn’t help but remember Jhali’s cruelty toward Asan. Surely he wouldn’t understand Raheed’s relationship with the beggar.  He’d think Raheed mad. What kind of soldier wasted his time on peasants, beggars? Maybe in Khafa it was different, but in Ayllamal soldiers only mingled with their own, even _bhanak_ soldiers.

            “You’re hiding something,” Jhali said in a hushed voice.

            “I told you—”

            “Don’t you trust me?”

            “Not exactly, no.”

            Jhali was close enough that Raheed could see him through the darkness. He looked hurt.  Raheed sighed.

            “If you had a secret, Jhali, I would respect that.”

            “But you don’t trust me.”

            “With most things I do.”

            Jhali snorted, then sighed. “Would this thing get you in trouble?”

            “Maybe.”

            “Is it a woman?” Jhali looked curious this time, almost hopeful.

            “No.”

            “Oh.” His interest seemed to fade. “Fine then. Go run off to your camel, Raheed. I’m sure she’ll be missing you.”

            Thirty minutes later, Raheed found Asan missing from his usual rock. When he looked around, he found two dark forms in the distance, once considerably larger than the other. Raheed approached them.

            Asan was standing in front of a camel, his hands cradling her face. Her long lips were inspecting his nose, making him laugh and duck his head. Raheed couldn’t help but smile slightly.

            Asan finally noticed Raheed watching and grinned in his direction. He beckoned Raheed forward and demanded Raheed pet her neck. Raheed did so, his hand sinking into her coat of soft fur.

            _Does she have a name?_ Raheed asked.

            Asan shrugged, then shook his head. He watched Raheed pat the camel twice, then move away.

            _Don’t you like her_? Asan asked.

            _Asan, I see camels every day._

_But do you pet them?_

“Asan,” Raheed said out loud, then rolled his eyes.

            _I don’t care how common they are._ Asan nuzzled the camel, who groaned and dropped her head to taste his tunic. _I love them_.

            Raheed wondered if Asan truly understood the significance of the gesture they’d invented for _love_ , but seeing the affection in Asan’s eyes, Raheed believed that he did. How odd.

            _Why_? Raheed asked.

            _They are kind. They do not hate me because I cannot hear or speak._

            Raheed sighed and put his hand on Asan’s shoulder. Asan turned to face him, black eyes shining with dots of silver in the moonlight.

            _I do not hate you_.

            _Thank you for that_ , Asan replied with a smirk on his face. Raheed didn’t believe one could be sarcastic using only hand gestures, but Asan made it possible. Raheed laughed.

            _I like you_ , Raheed amended. _We are friends._

            Asan stared at him a moment until a huge grin split his face. Suddenly he was hugging Raheed, startling the camel who had been nuzzling his shoulder. Raheed was shocked for an instant, but then he returned the embrace. He had been hugged many times by his fellow soldiers, but never by a beggar boy.

            _Thank you_ , Asan gestured with so much enthusiasm that Raheed could barely read his hands.

            Raheed didn’t know how to reply, so he cleared his throat and jerked a thumb at the rock behind them. _We should start our lesson._

Asan nodded, still smiling. There was so much joy lighting Asan’s expression that Raheed couldn’t help but reach out, ruffle his hair, and then put his arm around Asan’s shoulder, as a mentor might his student. Side by side, they returned to their usual rock to resume their learning.

 

*

 

            On Asan’s twelfth birthday, Raheed gave him the book which they’d filled with drawings. There were still blank spaces to be filled, so with a piece of charcoal Asan began to practice drawing, usually using camels as his models. It was easier to draw them than humans, though he tried drawing them as well. Once he attempted to draw Raheed, but he quickly gave up in his frustration. He didn’t mind if he made the butcher look ugly, but to do the same with Raheed seemed cruel, especially since Raheed was very much the opposite of ugly.

            Asan knew not to use his hand gestures to communicate with anyone outside of Raheed, but sometimes he did so without thinking, which garnered far more negative attention than good. People thought he was wielding spells or hexes, which frightened and angered them. When not begging for food, Asan sought refuge in his nook, a dark alley that remained undisturbed save a curious cat or famished dog. Asan had to throw stones at the dogs to keep them away, as they eyed him with far too much hunger for his liking. His nook was covered by a long piece of burlap, which was held up like an awning by several long sticks he’d recovered from the rare tree. It was underneath this burlap sheet that he would draw and attempt not to think about how hungry he was.

            One day he was peeking out into the market when he saw Raheed. He almost ran forward to say hello, but he was quickly stopped by the arrival of other soldiers, perhaps Raheed’s friends. Asan recognized the tall, burly one as the boy who had asked him to steal a fig. Asan did not like him at all.

            Asan ducked behind an abandoned booth to watch the group of four progress through the market. They all wore their Mulli soldier uniforms, as well as scimitars at their waist. Most men in Khafa could afford but a spear or knife, nothing like the long, iron swords the soldiers carried. Asan knew that none of them were seasoned soldiers, but one would be very brave to stand up to them. Raheed never brought any weapons when he visited Asan in the camel pastures. It was odd seeing him look so fierce.

            Asan leaned his cheek on the weathered wood, unable to keep his eyes from Raheed. His usual dark curls were covered by his helmet, as well as the thick veil that was draped under his chin and over his shoulders. It didn’t matter—he was still handsome.

            Something brushed up against his leg. He glanced down and sat it was a small kitten. It might have been white at some point, but it was so dusty that it looked almost yellow. Asan didn’t much care for dogs, but so far no cat had tried to eat him, so he bent down and pet it. It instantly sat at his feet and meowed.

            _Beggar cat_ , Asan said, shocked that he was gesturing toward the cat as if it were human and could understand. Then again, not even humans outside of Raheed could understand his gestures.

            The kitten opened its mouth and must have disturbed a man in a nearby booth, who glared at him as if it were Asan’s fault. Then again, nothing needed to be Asan’s fault for the townspeople to glare at him.

            Asan tried picking the kitten up, but it wiggled and clawed him until it was released. When he dropped it, it returned to meowing at him once more.

            _I have no food_ , Asan told the cat. _If I did, I would be eating it._

            The cat did not understand. Of course not. So he just leaned down at pet its ears, which seemed to satisfy it somewhat.

            Asan looked up when a shadow was thrown over his form. He glanced up and found the biggest Mulli soldier boy standing over him, smirking slightly.

            Asan tried taking off, but the Mulli soldier grabbed him by the scruff and pulled him back. The kitten darted away.

 

*

 

            “Well, look at this familiar scrap of a boy,” Jhali said, releasing Asan’s tunic and instead clasping a heavy hand on Asan’s shoulder. “Hasn’t grown an inch, has he?”

            “Jhali,” Raheed warned. He was glad Asan was staring at the ground, because he feared Asan’s pathetic gaze. “Let him go.”

            “I thought that maybe I should buy him a scrap of bread for all the trouble I put him through. What do you think, boy? How does that sound?”

            Asan said nothing, eyes still riveted to his feet.

            “Answer me, boy,” Jhali ordered.

            “Jhali!” Raheed barked. “I said leave him alone.”

            “Who made _you_ an officer?” Jhali snapped, whirling on Raheed. Raheed took a step back, hesitant. Kavin and Habib were silent.

            Jhali turned back to Asan. “You don’t get anything unless you answer me.”

            Asan finally lifted eyes to meet Jhali’s, then quickly looked away. He said nothing, of course.

            Jhali’s eyes narrowed. Sometimes when power ran thick in his blood, he became someone completely foreign to Raheed. Raheed knew that if he didn’t step in soon, Asan would pay the price.

            “Are you _dim_ , peasant?” Jhali demanded, shaking Asan before grabbing a handful of his hair. Asan let out a muffled cry, which spurred Raheed to action.

            “He can’t _hear you, Jhali!_ ” he exclaimed, grabbing Jhali’s arm. “He is deaf!”

            “How do you know?”

            Raheed didn’t answer, only turned to Asan, whose pleading eyes had finally landed on him. Raheed’s stomach turned; he wished Asan would not torment him so.

            “Because I’m smarter than you maybe,” Raheed replied, trying to return to their previous light mood.

            Jhali didn’t look amused. He turned fiery eyes back to Asan before letting go of his hair and tossing him to the ground.

            “Idiots,” Jhali spat at a crumpled Asan, who had immediately coiled his arms over his head. “His whore mother probably dropped him on his head.”

            “Jhali,” Kavin said, voice soft. “What—”

            “I hate this place.” Jhali kicked at the earth. “Surrounded by idiots and cripples, nothing but ugly women to fuck and feeble-minded beggars to get in my way.” He drew back his leg, as if to kick Asan. Raheed moved as quickly as Asan flinched.

            “Stop it,” Raheed ordered, pushing Jhali back. “You’ve worked yourself up, so best take it out on someone who can fight back.”

            “Get out of my way.”

            “No.”

            “Raheed, Jhali,” Habib pleaded. “Stop it.”

            “I know you’re homesick, Jhali—”

            Jhali grabbed the front of Raheed’s robes and held him close, so close that his breath ruffled the cloth hanging around Raheed’s head. “Shut up.”

            “Not until you calm down.”

            “I can do whatever I want to these people. What are they going to do, hmm? Attack us with pitchforks and blunt rocks? Even _they_ don’t like this beggar.”

            “So what? Do you feel like a big man, going after a starving beggar boy? What a great Mulli soldier you are. Surely they will award you for such courage, write you into their epic poems.”

            Jhali’s eyes narrowed. Then he snorted and tossed Raheed backward. Raheed’s feet collided with Asan’s form and he toppled over, landing on his back with a heavy _thump_.

            “These people are our _enemy_ , Raheed. I hope you figure out your true loyalties when we face real battle,” Jhali snarled, then stalked away, robes fluttering in the cloud of dust left in his wake. Habib took off after Jhali while Kavin reached forward to pull Raheed to a stand. Asan had already grasped Raheed’s other arm to help, though Raheed could have done without it.

            “Jhali’s getting restless,” Kavin murmured to Raheed as he straightened himself and began to brush off the sand and dust that had collected on his uniform. “It’s hard not to in this dead place.”

            “Are you alright?” Raheed asked Asan slowly, though he performed very slight gestures, ones that Kavin did not notice. Asan’s eyes darted to Raheed’s hands, then his mouth. Between the two, he was able to parse together the question.

            Asan nodded, looking suspiciously at Kavin.

            “Thought you said he was deaf,” Kavin muttered.

            “He understands some things.”

            “How do you _know_ this?”

            “I’m observant.”

            Kavin didn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh.” He glanced back at a retreating Jhali. “Guess we should get going.”

            Raheed nodded. Kavin strode away, trotting several steps to catch up with the others. Knowing he didn’t have much time before they realized he wasn’t following closely behind, Raheed turned to Asan.

            _I’m sorry_ , Raheed gestured.

            Asan said nothing. His eyes were blank. Raheed would have liked to apologize again, but he knew his friends would be looking over here at any moment. So he bowed his head slightly and then headed back to Jhali, Habib, and Kavin. He only looked over his shoulder once. Asan was watching him go, but there was nothing but grief in his eyes. 


	4. Kindness

             Asan wasn’t waiting for Raheed that night.  Nor the next one. It ended up being a good thing, because Jhali followed him out without Raheed’s knowing, at least until Raheed spotted a shadowy figure moving along behind him. He almost called out Asan’s name before remembering that Asan couldn’t hear. Of course he knew that by now, but some habits were hard to kill.

            Luckily he did not call Asan’s name, and it quickly became apparent the shadow was much too large to be Asan. Furious, Raheed advanced upon the figure and tackled him.

            “Are you _following me_?” Raheed snapped as he managed to pin Jhali beneath him.

            “You wouldn’t tell me the truth!”

            “Well, clearly I _did_. Do you see anything out here but me? I said I went on walks. That’s what I’m doing.”

            Jhali groaned. “Can you get off of me? Your knee is in my gut.”

            Raheed slowly climbed off, then held out a hand for Jhali to grasp. They had gotten over their argument in the marketplace, at least on the surface. Raheed still felt bitter about the encounter. If it had been anyone else, Raheed might not have cared. But it was Asan, and Raheed felt protective. Besides, he was growing impatient with Jhali assuming authority on all things, as if he and Raheed were not of the same status. Kavin and Habib did not seem to mind, so perhaps it was all in Raheed’s head.

            “You’ve been acting strangely, that’s all. I was concerned.” Jhali looked around. “Not even a camel out here tonight.”

            “No, I suppose not.”

            “Perhaps you come out here for some . . . relief?” At this, Jhali grabbed his crotch. Raheed couldn’t help but laugh and elbow him.

            “No, _not_ that.”

            “Well, _why_ then?”

            “Because I enjoy it. Just because you cannot understand . . .”

            “I don’t understand why you need solitude in a place where there is nothing _but_ nothing. Perhaps in Ayllamal  there might be something to _see_ on midnight walks . . .” He paused, then sighed. “Raheed, I must admit that you were partially right.”

            “I’m right about so much, but what am I right about this time?”

            Jhali crossed his arms and buried his hands under his sleeves, protecting them from the cold. “I am a bit homesick. Who wouldn’t be in this godforsaken place? We’re on the edge of a massive empire, protecting this town from what? Themselves? Barbarian invaders? I just don’t know why we’re here. We haven’t done _anything_ except put an old thief in some stocks. All the villagers hate us.”

            Raheed sighed and put his arm around Jhali’s shoulders. “At least we have one another, right?”

            “That could change.”

            “What does that mean?”

            Jhali’s face was stern as he looked into the distance. “We won’t be stationed here forever. Soon we’re going to be put into real battle.”  
            “I thought you wanted to do battle.”

            “Sometimes. There are times I just want to lop someone’s head off. But . . . I’m not an idiot. I know what happens. People die. People you care about.” He looked down at his feet. “Did I ever tell you how I became a soldier? A _bhanak_?”

            “No . . .”  
            “I was five. They raided my village.”

            “Who did?”

            “Mulli soldiers.”

            “Oh.”

            “My father went out to see what was going on. He never came back.”

            Raheed bit his lip. It sounded far more traumatizing than what he’d been through, which was a private transaction between a Mulli official and his poor, sick mother. There had been no screaming. His mother had left him in a room, told him she’d be back.

            She hadn’t come back.

            The next day the Mulli official told him they were leaving. He was not a bad man, so Raheed trusted him. Three months later, they arrived in Ayllamal and he learned to forget about his mother.

            “Several men entered our house. My mother held my sister and I, and the soldiers told her that if we came with him quietly, we would not be harmed. What other choice did we have? So we went. They took us to the town square and that was where we stayed for several days while they rounded everyone up. They told us all that they were there to protect us, that with them there, no more barbarians and heathens would invade their lands. All they had to do was comply with Mulli law.”

            “What happened then?”

            Jhali shrugged. “They had no choice, really. They submitted to Mulli law, to Mulli occupation. I remember a couple soldiers offering me treats at the market, telling me that I could become a great soldier. I liked those men very much. They were kind. Without my father, my mother was unable to care for us in the way she once had. We were very poor.”

            “So the Mulli soldiers took you in.”

            Jhali nodded. “They paid my mother twenty _immas_ for me.”

            Raheed winced. You could buy a camel for that.

            “By the time I was seven, I was training to be a Mulli soldier in Ayllamal. I someday dream of returning my mother and sister to see how they are, but a part of me doesn’t care.” He kicked a stone by his foot. “They’re probably dead.”

            “You don’t know that.”

            He shrugged.

            “My mother sold me as well. To repay debts.”

            “All of us have similar stories. I know Habib’s uncle sold him, Kavin’s father. We were the ones no one wanted and yet now everyone fears us.” He pulled his scimitar from its scabbard and held it aloft so that the moonlight glittered across its blade. “I am glad I was sold. I am proud to be a Mulli soldier. Mulli has made me a scholar as well as a soldier. Where else do you know of soldiers who can write poetry, read religious texts, recite oral history? Nowhere.” He paused. “I’d rather die young as a magnificent Mulli soldier than die as some old ignorant fool from a town no one’s ever heard of.”

            Raheed craned his neck back to look at the moon and stars. Many of the elders had spent a lifetime studying their charts of the skies. He could understand why.

            He returned his arm to Jhali’s shoulders. “Let’s go back to the camp, brother.”

            Jhali nodded and together they began the long stroll back home.

 

*

 

            Asan tore a page from the book Raheed had given him and then proceeded to rip it into smaller and smaller pieces. The sandy kitten from before was leaping at the fluttering pieces, pinning them under its paws. Asan turned to the next page and started to rip it as well, then stopped halfway. Just beneath the tear was one of Asan’s attempts to draw Raheed.

            Tears suddenly leapt to Asan’s eyes. He curled his limbs closer to himself and sank into his bed of rags underneath the burlap awning he had made. As he sobbed, the kitten stopped its playing and crept closer, meowing softly. He reached out and pet its tangled fur, his fingers running over the bones that jutted out from its underfed hide.

            _I want to die sometimes_ , Asan thought to himself, digging his face into his arms. _Why was I even born_?

            Asan used to cry all the time as a child, but growing up he learned that despair was more a default. Perhaps he cried now because he had almost been happy. But with the incident in the marketplace, Asan was forced to see the reality. Raheed was a Mulli soldier, cruel like the rest of them. His loyalty was to the empire, not to some stupid beggar boy who couldn’t even talk properly.

            Asan wished Raheed’s friend had killed him. He really did.

 

*

           

            Raheed grew worried after two weeks of no Asan. So he went looking for him the next day.

            “Do you know where the beggar boy goes?” Raheed asked a young woman at a stall that sold lentils and barley. For once, he was not met with a look of derision. In fact, she leaned a bit close as she answered.

            “The beggar boy? You mean the little rat who steals from the market?”

            “I suppose that would be him.”

            She shrugged. “No one really knows. If we did, he’d probably be dead by now. He’s nothing but a nuisance.” She bit her lip. “Why are you looking for him? Are you going to rid us of him?”

            “No,” Raheed answered coldly before moving on, leaving the woman wide-eyed and clueless.

            Raheed looked all day, asking villagers for information and failing to get many answers. Some pointed vaguely, others outright refused to reply, scoffing at his back. _Mulli tyrants_.  
            By the time the sun began to set, Raheed grew desperate. No one had seen him in quite some time. What if something had happened? If he wasn’t venturing out to the market, how was he surviving? Did he have anything to eat? Raheed reached under his robes to the canteen of water and the half loaf of bread he had snatched from the cook.

            Raheed was about to give up when he spotted a dusty white kitten standing in the middle of the narrow street, far beyond the crowds and calls of the marketplace. This road was bordered by several crumbling buildings, only one of them occupied. The kitten stared at him a second, then sat down and began to lick its paw.

            “What are you doing?” he joked. “Mocking me?”

            The kitten continued to lick itself.

            Raheed walked up to the cat, surprised it did not run away. Instead it stood, craning its head back and meowing hungrily. It looked near starving. It was probably too young to hunt for itself.

            “I don’t think you’d like the bread I have,” he told it. “I’m sorry.”

            There was a donkey that brayed in the distance. The kitten darted off, running around a corner and vanishing. Perhaps Raheed should capture it and take it back to the camp to catch the mice that sometimes took refuge in their food bins. Liking this idea, he followed the kitten until he reached an alley barely wider than his shoulders, shrouded in shadows thrown by the buildings on either side of it. At the very end was a pile of rags and a canopy made from burlap. Nothing stirred save the kitten, who stopped at a clay bowl to lap at the small pool of water at its base.

            “Who gave you that water?” he asked, then started when he realized there was a form under the burlap canopy. All he had to see was a foot to know who it was.

            “Asan?” he blurted, bending over and looking beneath the burlap. There in a nest made from tattered cloth was curled Asan, asleep in a fetal position, an arm pillowing his head. He looked much too thin, his cheekbones jutting out from sunken skin and his fingers nothing more than spider legs.

            For a moment, Raheed feared Asan was dead. He slowly sank to his knees and reached out to touch Asan’s arm. Raheed rejoiced in the warmth of Asan’s skin moments before Asan jolted awake and scrambled backwards, an animalistic cry slipping from his mouth.

            “Asan, it’s me!” Raheed replied reflexively, then quickly signed, _It’s me_.

            Asan stared at him for a few moments. His skin had a yellow tint, his lips dry and cracked. It was clear he hadn’t eaten in a very long time. He could very well die tomorrow.

            “Lord Almighty,” Raheed whispered under his breath, then scrambled to grab the bread from under his robes. _Eat this, Asan._

Asan shook his head, his gaze resolute.

            _Why not_? Raheed asked.

            _I want to die_.

            “Asan!” Raheed blurted. _Why would you say that?_

 _It is pointless to live,_ Asan replied, hands shaking as he gestured.

_You are twelve! Much too young to think such things!_

Asan slid back down to a prostrate position and turned his back on Raheed, signing over his shoulder, _Go away._

Raheed grabbed Asan’s shoulder and rolled him over, not so interested in being gentle this time. _Asan, look at me._

            Asan’s eyes met Raheed’s. Raheed wanted to look away from all the pain and misery he saw there, but he knew that looking away would be showing weakness. Weakness was the last thing Asan needed right now.

            Asan began to blink as tears gathered in his eyes. He tried to push Raheed away but his arms trembled with the effort and Raheed didn’t even budge. Raheed took both of Asan’s wrists to keep him from straining himself. Asan’s protest was shrill and inhuman, but at this point it didn’t faze Raheed at all.

            “Look,” Raheed grumbled in frustration, holding a pathetically weak Asan back as he reached into his robes and pulled out the half loaf of bread. He didn’t have the hands to gesture, so he said, “Eat some of this, please.”

            Asan batted the bread away. It landed on the street several strides away. The kitten walked over to in inspect it, even taking an experimental bite. Asan was sobbing now, collapsing against Raheed with a wail.

            Raheed sighed and wrapped a shaking Asan in his arms. Digging his face deep inside of Raheed’s robes, Asan’s hands trembled as they clasped him. Raheed rested his chin on top of Asan’s hair. This had to be the first time anyone had cried in his arms, though he had certainly been the weeper once or twice with Elder Hassad as a child. Elder Hassad had not nearly been so understanding.

            As Asan’s sobs abated, Raheed pulled him back so that he could see Raheed point to the bread. _I brought that for you. You eat it. That’s an order, soldier._

Asan didn’t smile, but he started to wipe the tears from his ruddy cheeks. He climbed off of Raheed and let Raheed retrieve the bread, nibbled as it was by the kitten. Asan had it out of Raheed’s hands before he’d even seen Asan move.

            “Don’t eat so fast,” Raheed said aloud as he signed. “You’ll get sick.”

            Asan slowed down only slightly. Raheed looked at the bones bulging from Asan’s knees and elbows and winced. This had been all his fault.

            “I’m sorry for what happened at the marketplace last time.” Raheed found it was easier to speak aloud as well as gesture.

            Asan barely looked up as he ate. Raheed was shocked at how much bread he could stuff into his mouth. He couldn’t help but laugh.

            “Don’t choke yourself!”

            Asan sniffed, still wiping some errant tears from his cheeks as he ate. Raheed slid into a sitting position on the stone, watching Asan devour his semi-stale meal. Raheed felt a protective surge, the desire to keep Asan from further harm and misery. He’d had a younger brother long ago, one he barely remembered. He wondered if Asan resembled him in any way.

            Asan finished off the bread and held out his hand for more. Raheed laughed and pushed the hand away.

            “Greedy little beggar boy, aren’t you?”

            Asan smiled slightly, an expression that looked almost gruesome on his sharp features.

            “I will not have time to come into the village tomorrow, but if you meet me by the river bed early tomorrow morning, I may have some extra lentil soup for you.”

            Asan nodded.

            “Sleep well and keep yourself out of trouble.” Raheed gently pushed on Asan’s shoulder. “No more starving yourself or wishing yourself dead. You have a long prosperous life ahead of you.”

            Asan didn’t seem to agree, but he just wrinkled his nose and returned to his bed of rags. Raheed picked up the kitten and set it on Asan’s stomach.

            “And I will bring something for that pet of yours, a bit of milk or salted mutton perhaps.”

            Asan signed, _Thank you_ in return. With a nod and a smile, Raheed stood and walked out of the alley.

 

*

 

            There was a commotion in the village the next morning that Asan didn’t understand. People looked excited, jubilant almost. He wondered if it were perhaps in expectation of a festival, but he couldn’t recall any annual celebrations during this time of the year.

            He ignored them and went to the river bed, but Raheed never showed. For a moment Asan cursed himself for being so naïve to believe in the kindness of a Mulli soldier. He kicked the dirt and threw his arms about in a silent tantrum, going so far as to gesture violently at a distant camel, who only blinked slowly and continued to chew its cud.

            After exploding, Asan sat down on the usual flat rock to cry. This was it. This was the last time he would expect anything from Raheed. Oh, how Asan hated him so. Mulli soldiers were all liars, cruel and spiteful liars. Why extend kindness only to revoke it? Did Raheed hate Asan that much? But if he hated Asan, why did he spend months teaching him how to speak with his hands? Why exert the energy into creating a whole new language for the benefit of one starving beggar boy? Was it a part of the Mulli plan?

            Sobbing and furious, Asan returned to his nest of rags. He was pleased to find that his kitten, who he’d named Dust, had caught some sort of small vermin. So even if he starved, he knew that Dust would not. The thought was supposed to cheer him, but his spirits could not be lifted. He hadn’t the strength to cry, and what would be the point? He cried and he despaired, and no one cared. There was no pity for him in this world, only his own. So instead he sank into a restless sleep, hating himself and everyone, especially the handsome Mulli soldier who had abandoned him.

 

*

 

            Asan didn’t see the soldiers anymore.

            He realized this after a week or so wandering the marketplace. They usually made such striking figures, but now it was only peasants in their dull, dusty robes, trying to sell mohair and chickpeas.

            Despite the scorching heat, Asan braved the stretch of desert between the village and the Mulli fort, which consisted of short walls made from baked mud and a scattering of tents. But when he arrived, he saw no tents, nor any guards at the gates. All that remained were the walls, circles of scorched dirt from fire pits, and the gouged earth where horses had tread.

            There was nothing.

            Raheed was gone.

 

END OF PART ONE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a while, we'll get away from Asan and focus more on Raheed's growth and development. But I promise Asan comes back! I hope that by now you've realized which one of these two characters is going to participate in the M/M in this story, aha. Reviews are love!
> 
> Anyway, it gets more violent and kind of depressing from here . . .


	5. The March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hahnars in this were inspired by the Moors, even though the Moors ruled in Spain, far away from the Middle East (even though Moor is kind of a general term anyway). In case anyone wonders. Their culture, however, is pretty much made-up. XD

 

Part Two 

            No one wanted to cross the Red Desert, so most were forced to go around it. It added on weeks to their travel time, but not even the most daring of commanders were willing to lose soldiers to the heat and drought. Raheed and his fellow soldiers were told they would be marching for at least six months, three months of that spent crossing the Anuh Ridge.

            It was a miserable march. When the sun wasn’t burning their skin scarlet, cold night winds were blowing sand into every crevice of the human body. Raheed, who always dressed with robes tucked and boots tied, had to empty out his clothes every night. Food was scarce in between towns, which were even scarcer as they neared Anuh Ridge. Fifty years ago, all this territory was squabbled over by various tribes, putting all traders who took the road from Mulli to empires beyond in danger. As its coffers filled with gold and its armies filled with _bhanak_ , Mulli became far less tolerant. Taking the land with brutal force was in everyone’s best interest. No more traders were kidnapped and tortured by the side of the road.

            Unless perhaps they were barbaric tribes returning to reclaim their land.

             At first, their trek was celebrated. At last, they were escaping the bleak ennui of Khafa! Yet as the days grew hot and long, enthusiasm dimmed. Raheed’s own enthusiasm had only been half-hearted in the beginning, so it was all he could do to rise in the morning after three weeks of marching.

            They were joined by more troops during their fourth week, then more in the fifth. By the time two months had passed, they were seven thousand strong, making resources scarce and fights common. Raheed had to drag a bloodied, drunk Jhali back to his tent more often than not.

            “You’re supposed to save your rage for the enemy,” Raheed muttered as Jhali pressed a wet cloth to his blackened eye.

            “This is training,” Jhali joked. Kavin snorted and patted him on the back.

            “Let’s hope you’re not wasted when we face the enemy,” Kavin muttered in Jhali’s ear.

            Habib entered the tent, joined by several of their new tentmates, a few privates from northern camps. They were hot-blooded and crude, slightly more experienced than Jhali and Raheed in that they’d faced one battle before. Jhali worked hard to make himself accepted amongst their ranks.

            While Jhali detailed what he might do to the enemy once they reached the battlefront, Raheed slipped from the tent and headed for the edge of camp. A long trail of horses and camels were hitched to posts pounded into the soft stand, their saddles and burdens lying in a guarded pile ten strides away. Raheed knew they were being led by an esteemed colonel, whose horse he knew would not be standing amongst this herd. Top officers rode only the finest steeds, horses so treasured that they were tied inside the officers’ tent. He’d heard that the colonel rode a mare, a particularly daring move, considering mares were far more prized than stallions, as it was the mare’s pedigree that was used to track bloodlines back centuries.

            As the size of their army grew, the rules became much more heavily enforced. So Raheed didn’t even bother petting the horses, as he knew he’d be yelled at for it. Instead, he stopped just several strides from the last tent and stared out into the moonlit night. Unlike Khafa, which was only hills and dunes, Raheed could see jagged mountains in the distance, dark and subtle as they were. They were to go beyond those mountains in order to find their next war, this time with the opposing nation of Hahnar. Raheed had been told with his fellow soldiers that it would be easy, that Mulli was commissioned by God Himself to rule any land on which Man could tread, but Raheed was not superstitious. He wondered if it would really be so easy as the others claimed.

            A camel moaned behind him. It made Raheed think of Khafa. Of Asan.

            To himself, Raheed signed the words _be safe_ to himself as he looked out into the starry night. He knew it was not enough, but he knew the possibility of safety was far more realistic in Asan’s case than his own.

           

*

 

            Two months later, they finally completed the journey around the Red Desert. Such a successful end to an adventure was celebrated with drinks and brothel visits at the next small city they entered. Raheed might have joined them if he hadn’t caught word that they were being joined by the most esteemed General himself, the man of whom epic poems boasted. He had been chosen as successor to the General Kanil before him, the general responsible for much of Mulli’s success. Since Kanil death, Mulli had only seen more victories, more territories, more wealth. There wasn’t a man outside of Caliph Yussim that was more honored, more _respected_ than General Mamid.

            Jhali, Kavin, and Habib left with their friends around dusk. They asked Raheed to join them, but Raheed excused himself with a plea of sickness. They all rolled their eyes but did not fight him, as they’d grown used to Raheed’s occasional introversion by now. Shortly after they left, Raheed headed for the officers’ tents, hoping that he might catch a glimpse of General Mamid himself.

            Raheed’s efforts were met with good fortune. Just as he crept down a gap between two tents, he heard the sound of rapid hooftbeats. As he poked his head out into the opening, he saw a man on a dark bay stallion, flanked by several uniformed men on white horses. There wasn’t much to see, as the general was covered in dark, dusty robes, his face shielded by a shemagh. He was not the wealthy, decorated general that Mulli liked to boast about. In fact, he appeared more ragged than even Raheed and his friends. He was a man who had seen many battles. He was a man who survived.

            Raheed’s chest swelled with pride as he watched the general and his guards rush by, followed by a trail of red dust. Shortly after passing Raheed, their horses were pulled to a sudden halt outside of the officers’ main tent. The colonel stepped forward and saluted as the general dismounted his sweating steed.

            “I pray the journey was expeditious,” the colonel said as the General Mamid untied his shemagh and pulled both it and his helmet from his head.

            The general said nothing, only entered the tent, guards in tow. The colonel quickly followed, seemingly unaffected by the general’s nature. All that remained was a single man who had ridden in with them, young enough to be considered a boy. He dismounted, quickly gathered up the horses, and tied them to a nearby post. He must have seen Raheed lurking, because his gaze lingered on him.

            “Is there something I can help you with?” Raheed asked, emerging from his hiding spot. He felt a bit sheepish for spying, but the boy didn’t seem to care. He just bowed slightly, shoulders hunched around his neck. Raheed realized why. He was a tall boy, and it was inappropriate for a servant to stand any taller than a man whose status was above his. He was only below Raheed’s height if he slouched.

            “Where is the closest well?” the boy asked, his accent clipped and barely present.

            “Do you need help taking the horses there?”

            “No disrespect, sir, but I do not think the general would approve of others touching his horse, or his guards’ horses.”

            Raheed nodded. “Of course. Follow me.”

            The boy trailed several horses behind him as he followed Raheed to the well, including the general’s. As they walked, Raheed tried to place the boy’s accent, as well as his somewhat flattened features. While they mostly bought boys as _bhanak_ from empires conquered, sometimes it would buy those who did not meet the physical standards of the empire and employ them as servants, or it would purchase women it deemed beautiful enough to be worthy of Mulli brothels and harems. This boy was probably taken young, as he spoke very proper Aillic. Raheed was somewhat soothed to see that he looked well-taken care of. While his people refused to call any of their servants _slaves_ , sometimes they were just that, and the soldering life wasn’t kind to anyone, let alone those at the bottom of the social ladder. Raheed had seen abused servants before and upon protesting it, found that everyone ignored it.

            “Do you know how long it will take to cross the ridge?” Raheed asked.

            The boy kept his eyes on the well as he replied. “Perhaps a few more months, sir.”

            Raheed shifted nervously. He didn’t much like being called _sir_ , but he knew it was proper. “Is the general in good health?”

            “Yes, sir. He is only tired from the ride.”

            “I suppose he would be.” Raheed cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “We are honored to have him with us. All of us are greatly inspired by his acts of valor.”

            The servant merely bowed his head in acquiesance.

            Eventually Raheed wandered away, because he felt as if the servant did not him want him there. It could be very possible that the servant didn’t care one way or another, but Raheed didn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable.

 

*

 

            Jhali, Habib, and Kavin returned merely hours before they were called to wake. Raheed mocked them as they dressed, though they quickly responded with boasts of the women they’d seen at the brothel.

            “What are you bragging about?” Raheed asked with a laugh. “That you could pay a woman to touch you?”

            Jhali shoved Raheed with a guffaw. “Get outside, you shit.”

            Once they had all congregated and stood at attention, they watched a man on a dark bay stallion ride forward, his face thrown in shadow by the harsh sunlight at his back. Jhali elbowed Raheed in the side.

            “Is that him?” he whispered in awe.

            Raheed nodded minutely.

            They expected the general to address them, perhaps give them some inspirational speech, but he only walked his horse back and forth a few times, observing them. Finally he turned his horse around and spoke with his inferior officers, all of whom talked in low voices.

            “Should I be more impressed?” Habib whispered.

             “You expect a parade?” Raheed replied. He was then elbowed by Jhali, who held a finger to his lips. The last thing they needed now was to attract attention.

 

*

 

            The heat abated as they climbed, replaced by a bone-rattling chill. Nothing but cold rock stretched out before them, up and up into eternity. There were no trees, only shrubs that would only interest a goat.  They passed an occasional shepherd, but the rest of the ridge was abandoned, allowing them passage without upset.

            “I never thought I’d say this, but I miss the sun,” Jhali said as he shivered under his cloak.

            “The sun is right there.”

            Jhali glanced over his shoulder at the sun setting along the jagged teeth of the mountain range. “It’s an imposter.”

            “It’s been replaced,” joked Kavin. “It is not a Mulli sun, but the sun of barbarians.”

            “When we conquer the Hahnars, it will be our sun,” Jhali said. “And it will be warm.”

            Raheed’s throat tigthened at the mentioning of the Hahnars. He knew little about them, but any empire that had lasted this long against Mulli influence had to be formidable. He wished that his superiors would provide them with more information, let them know what they would be facing. All he could recall was what Elder Hassad had taught him during his studies. He knew that Hahnars were much darker-skinned, that they drank the blood of their camels. Beyond that, Raheed knew nothing. He did not know how they fought, their numbers, whether they attacked in armies or from bushes. Though he did suppose there weren’t many bushes for them to hide behind.

            Even though the nights were freezing, the stars remained. It was the only thing that comforted Raheed at night. Often, when the rest of the camp slept, he’d sneak out of the tent and look up to the skies, praying to God that he would live to see Ayllamal again, that once more he could greet Elder Hassad and tell him stories of his travels. He believed it a humble wish, easily granted. He prayed for the protection of his friends, for other _bhanak_ s, for the general, for Asan. It was a much more complex wish, but he knew God was loving. If God did not appoint Mulli as his sword, then how could they have made it so far?

 

*

 

            Beyond the mountains lay more desert, though there were no more dunes, only rock and cracked earth. They were told to stay alert— they were officially in enemy territory.  It did not seem such, as they only life they saw was the occasional scorpion or lizard. Raheed kept his eyes on the general, waiting for his reaction. It was hard to tell with the man, as he seemed stoic at all times, rarely happy and never afraid. Rumor told him that unlike most generals of history, General Mamid was _bhanak_. Many of his men looked up to him for it while many Mulli scoffed. It was not right, they said, that a non-Mulli should be in charge of their army. It made Raheed trust the man more. He was not tied to Mulli by blood and still he fought. There was nothing else for him to do.

            “Look what I caught,” Habib said one night as they paroled the edge of the camp. He held up a long, dark shape. Kavin jumped upon realizing it was a snake, letting out a rather un-soldierlike shriek.

            Habib and Jhali guffawed as Kavin kicked dirt at Habib. Habib tossed the snake into a bush, still chuckling. Raheed hadn’t known if it was alive or dead.

            “You all need to be quieter,” Raheed insisted, trying to stem his own laughter. “We _are_ in Hahnar territory.”

            As if they needed to be reminded.

            Water was scarce, and as they had few allies, it would be difficult to find. All of them marched with dry throats, a feeling that quickly became commonplace. They were allowed mere sips every hour, just enough to keep them going.

            “I want to know where the damn Hahnars are,” Jhali growled one night as they set up camp. “So that we can kill them and go home.”

            Two weeks into their journey, men began to fall. Raheed expected the army to wait, to spend several days allowing the soldiers to recover. Instead, they were left. Fear began to creep amongst them, providing sleepless nights and exhausted days. Why did they have to march so quickly? Raheed knew there had to be a reason, but he would have liked to know it, just to heal his ailing confidence.   

            “It’s most likely a surprise attack,” said Habib. “That’s why we must keep going. Before they know we are here.”

            “No one lives out here. So who are we surprising, exactly?” Jhali snapped. Tempers were running thin.

            “Lizards, I suppose,” Raheed tried to joke. No one laughed.

 

*

 

            Raheed was sent on water patrol without his friends, probably a wise decision but still not one he agreed with. He was paired with a rather dim-witted young soldier, one who barely reached Raheed’s shoulder and spoke with a thick accent. He had to be have been a recent addition to the Mulli army. Raheed didn’t bother asking for his name. All he did was thrust an oiled leather sack into the boy’s arms and head for the nearest canyon, which had begun to grow deeper the further they progressed into Hahnar territory. His superiors believed that it would be a source of water.

            “But beware,” Sergeant Azim had warned with a strict eye. “Where there is water, there is life. And none of it is friendly here.”

            For once, he heeded Sergeant Azim’s caution. Raheed kept a hand on the hilt of his sword as they climbed over rocks and throuch crevices, hoping to find greener plantlife and perhaps some game large enough to eat. His assistant travelled behind, looking bored.

            Finally they reached the deepest part of the small canyon. In shallow depressions in the rock was water, though it looked stagnant and stained green. It had to come from somewhere. Perhaps it had rained a few nights before? They had seen clouds in the distance, but they had not drifted in their direction, leaving many of the men disappointed. Perhaps this was where they had hovered.

            “I’m not drinking _that_ ,” the boy complained.

            “Perhaps there is somewhere it is a bit more pure,” Raheed said half-heartedly, then began walking along with the baked bed of the canyon, encouraged by the signs of recent rainfall.

            Luckily Raheed traveled quietly, as he was immediately stopped by the sound of voices. He ducked low behind a boulder, pulling his fellow soldier with him. He paused a moment before he swiveled his head around the rock and looked out into the opening he’d almost crossed into. Indeed, there was water there, this time looking a bit more appetizing than the traces Raheed had found. Yet what was less heartening were the several men standing above it, all dressed in heavy robes that concealed their faces. They were not part of the Mulli army, that was for sure. Their clothing and language came from a very different culture.

            “Who are they?” the boy whispered in terror.

            “The enemy.”

            “What should we do?”

            “Go warn our—”

            Raheed was interrupted by the call of a conch shell. The men before them, men who had previously been laughing and speaking lightly, stiffened and grabbed their swords. They quickly mounted their horses and kicked them into a swift trot across the rock.

            “Quickly!” Raheed snapped, spinning around. “Back to the camp!”

            Their ascent was clumsy. Raheed tried his best to be brave and stoic like General Mamid, but he saw his hands shaking as he gripped the rock. Halfway up the ravine, he could hear shouts and the pound of frantic hoofbeats.

            “Raheed!” cried the boy behind him, clutching Raheed’s cloak. “What are we going to do?”

            “Fight, I suppose.” He pulled his scimitar from his belt. “And win.”

            With these craggy hills came good hiding spaces, so, like their enemies, Raheed had little trouble crouching behind a rock and dragging his fellow soldier with him.

            “Give me your crossbow.”

            “My bow? But—”

            Raheed turned around and glared at him. Down below, dark blurs collided, one barely distinguishable from another. Luckily the Hahnars wore stuffed turbans, making them easy enough to spot for someone with a good eye. Raheed’s companion supplied him with a crossbow and several arrows while Raheed handed back his sword.

            “I have my own—”

            “Shut up and just hold it,” Raheed muttered as he peeked around the boulder behind which they hid. It looked like a mess down at the camp, but Hahnar numbers were not catastrophic. Most likely they’d come in contact with a roving band, nothing organized or disciplined like Mulli soldiers. Raheed spotted a few still bodies as well as a struggling horse, but it was nothing what he had feared.

            “You can’t shoot them. Tthey’re all moving around,” came a whisper over his shoulder.

            “I find a cluster then,” Raheed grumbled back, then let an arrow fly. Luckily for him, many of the Hahnars rode horses, making them much larger targets. As much as they would have liked to save the horses and keep them for themselves, an arrow to the hindquarters would certainly spook a horse enough to dislodge its rider. Which is what it did when Raheed’s arrow grazed its hide. With a squeal, it took off at a gallop, crashing through a tent as it went.

            Raheed was much better with a sword than he was with an arrow, as the other two he shot went rogue and hit nothing. With a grunt of frustration, Raheed tossed the bow to the boy and stole his scimitar back. Then, deciding that military strategy was moot in an ambush, rushed down the hill into the fray.

            It was a dumb thing to do, but Raheed didn’t know what other option there was, outside of hiding, which was below his character. They had been taught everything but real combat. Raheed’s first lesson in that would be today.

            He just hoped it wouldn’t be his last.

            Hahnars were tall and lanky people, their skin dark like stained leather, obscured by thick, curly beards. Apparently facial hair did not denote status, though Raheed had to take a moment to swallow fear as one looked toward him. It was hard not to see see royalty or a cleric in that face, as they were the only ones allowed natural, untrimmed beards. Only a moment was provided for Raheed to imagine Elder Hassad before the Hahnar approached him, moving in such a way that dispelled the association. This was no cleric or prince but a barbaric Hahnar, heathens who drank blood and sold their children into slavery.

            For the first time, a man’s sword struck his with the intent to kill. Raheed felt the blow as harshly as he felt the terror. He could die today. This man could kill him.

            Raheed shifted and deflected the blow to his left. He was smaller than this man, younger too. But it was also clear that his man hadn’t the training or skills of a Mulli soldier, nor the weaponry. Raheed detected signs of rust along the dull blade. Realizing this, Raheed was infused with a shot of courage. He was the first to strike the second time.

             Raheed was good at sparring, however, not good at killing. He and his opponent were locked in an almost whimsical battle for a minute or so before the man was grabbed from behind. As he twised, a blade crossed his throat. The Hahnar dropped to his knees, the white folds of his robes soaked in a dark crimson blood.

            Raheed jumped back, then looked at the man who had delivered the blow.

            Jhali.

            “Wondering were you were!” Jhali cried with a somewhat unusual smile. His eyes were wide, panicked almost. “You leave to go piss yourself?”

            Raheed wanted to reply but could not. He was still staring at the dead Hahnar at his feet.

            “Come on!” Jhali grabbed Raheed and yanked him forward, wielding his blood-soaked blade. “Let’s give ‘em a taste of Mulli, eh?”

           

*

 

            “One more. One more and then I’m _done_!”

            Habib laughed as Jhali struggled to hold his canteen. “You always say that, Jhali!”

            Jhali laughed loudly before throwing his head back for another chug. The Mulli soldiers had handled their victory with poise until they realized most of the Hahnars had been packing wine. There was not enough to go around, of course, but there was plenty for the first ones to find it. Of course Jhali was at the front of the line. He could sniff out wine like a dog.

            “Oooooohhh,” sighed Jhali, swaying as he slipped an arm around Kavin and Habib, drawing them into a tight embrace. “I am so glad that I could fight alongside you, my brothers. We are desert knights! We will be written into legends and songs will be sung in our honor.”

            “I hope those songs include your rather unfortunate nose,” Habib replied, stealing Jhali’s canteen to take a deep swig.

            “Women love my nose.” Jhali grinned around his split lip and fought for the return of his wine. Then he turned to Raheed. “You will have some, won’t you, Raheed? You have been quiet. How unlike you!”

            Raheed looked across at the celebrating men around him, most of them feasting on the supplies that the dead Hahnars had left behind. Two of the horses had been killed and butchered to provide freshly cooked meat, which they ate in a stew cooked by several of the servants. It was the best thing they’d eaten in months.

            “I think you are drunk,” Raheed replied with a smile.

            “When I go back to Mulli, brother . . .” Jhali crouched for a second, then tossed his head back. “When I return to Mulli, I will be drunk for a _month._ I will never not be drunk. I will drown myself in wine and women and all the rest of you can go to hell.”

            “I’ll be coming with you,” Habib replied with a guffaw, “if wine and women are involved.”

            “Noooo,” Jhali slurred, pushing Habib’s face away with a spread hand. He burped, then sighed. “I want a souvenir of our victory. A finger or a shrunken head or something. Don’t these heretics do that sort of witchcraft?”

            “They drink blood,” Raheed replied. “They don’t shrink heads.”

            “Well, there’s plenty of blood for them to drink now, isn’t there? Theirs!”

            Kavin, Habib, and Kavin chuckled and continued to pass around the wine.

             

*

 

            When he couldn’t sleep, Raheed walked. He climbed up a rocky incline, moving slowly as not to make any noise. As they were no longer in the mountains, his climb was not long. Luckily the moon was out, lighting his way to the top of the hill. When he reached the peak, he looked across the bleak landscape, feeling no more at peace than he had in the tent amongst his comrades. Looking across a land he felt no loyalty or connection to, he was struck by a harsh bout of homesickness.

            Raheed sat on a rock and cradled his head in his hands. Everyone had acted so triumphant. But every time Raheed closed his eyes, he recalled his first kill, which had happened only hours prior to their celebration meal. Were the others not haunted by the resistance provided by the human body as the blade dug in?  Did they not remember the eyes, the blood, the gaping mouth, the toppled turban, inside of which . . .

            Raheed opened his palm. Inside of the Hahnar’s turban had been a small metal pin, fashioned into the shape of a scorpion. It was rimmed with what looked like mother of pearl, but its finish was eroded by time and travel. Who did it belong to? Did it represent a lost lover, a friend? Was it some treasured heirloom? Raheed assumed it was important; he wouldn’t have been carrying it under his turban into battle if it wasn’t.

            “Elder Hassad,” Raheed whispered into the night as his eyes tightened. “You taught me so much but . . .” He lifted the butt of his palms to press against his moist eyes, “you did not teach me this.”

            With blurry vision, Raheed tipped his head toward the skies, searching for the constellations that most soldiers knew by the age of ten. Raheed recalled the maps that Elder Hassad kept in his library, scrolls containing all of the secrets of the skies.

            _“The world always changes, Raheed, but the sky remains the same_ ,” Elder Hassad had said. Perhaps that was why Raheed never feared the night. Who could fear something as beautiful as the night sky?

            Rubbing the last of his tears from his eyes, Raheed stood and began his descent back to camp.

 

*

 

            They marched until the hills flattened and they began to cross the flat basin, the valley between the ridge they’d left behind and the one they approached. Raheed assumed valleys to be small, but this one stretched on forever. The victory of their battle in the hills dimmed as their journey lengthened. Once again, they were stuck in foreign land with little water and only the occasional lizard to eat. The officers studied their maps and talked tactics as Raheed, his friends, and other lowly soldiers played target practice with rocks and angry scorpions.

            One morning, Raheed woke to the mournful cry of a horn. Seconds later, men crashed into their tent, waking them up.

            “Rise, quickly!” the men hissed, slapping their faces and pulling their arms until Raheed and his friends jumped up and began to dress.

            “What’s going on?” Jhali hissed to Raheed and he struggled to fit his helmet over his head.

            “I don’t know.” His hands shook as he tried to fit his scimitar through his belt.

            A tent flap was pulled back and a soldier urged them to hurry up. Apparently a messenger had returned early this morning with dire news—a Hahnar army was approaching. This was not a rogue band like the one before it.

            As they rushed to prepare, Jhali pulled Raheed’s arm until they were standing side by side. He leaned and whispered, “Are you ready, my brother?”

            “No,” Raheed replied honestly. He expected Jhali to laugh, but instead Jhali only frowned and nodded.

            “We watch out for each other like last time, yes?”

            Raheed nodded. Knowing Jhali was at his side was a small comfort, as Jhali had proved himself a rather skillful fighter. He had a heart for it, unlike Raheed, even if they had about the same amount of training.

            “God will watch over us,” Jhali murmured. “He will protect us.”  
            “Let’s hope.”

            Jhali reached out and put his hand behind Raheed’s neck, drawing him forward until their foreheads touched. His dark eyes were intense, more serious than Raheed had ever seen them. “We are strong. We are Mulli. Right?”

            Raheed nodded.

            “Good.” Jhali pulled back and grabbed a quiver of arrows from the ground. “God be with us then.”

            Toghether, Raheed, Jhali, Kavin, and Habib left their tent and headed for the congregation that had formed at the edge of the camp. The general sat atop his horse, pacing back and forth along his inferiors, shouting orders. His voice was loud and powerful, not a trace of fear to be heard. His robes were tattered and faded from travel, but there was no mistaking his position, as he commanded with the confidence of a true general.

            “We need several wings,” the general said. “The army should be coming through a funnel that is the pass through the far mountains. If we can get to them before they get into the valley, we will have a narrow passage in which to trap them . . .”

            A battle strategy was hastily planned before the camp was packed up and they continued forward. It was hard to march in full armor under the intense morning sun, but they had no choice. Their fear abated any minor discomforts they faced. Habib and Kavin were pale yet resolute while Jhali faced forward, his jaw set, his eyes focused on the distant horizon. He knew that all three of them looked to him for guidance; Raheed had no doubt that he would be promoted to an officer in the near future.

            “Hey, Raheed,” Jhali murmured as they walked.

            “Yes?”

            “Is tomorrow not your nineteenth birthday?”

            Raheed did calculations in his head. “I haven’t been keeping track so well but . . . yes, I suppose it is.”

            “This is your birthday gift, I suppose. Disposing of Hahnars.”

            Raheed laughed a moment before realizing Jhali was serious. He sobered. “I’d rather have a bit of baklava, actually.”

            Habib snorted, probably louder than he might have if he weren’t running on nerves at the moment.

            “Perhaps we will fashion something from stale bread, eh?” Jhali chuckled and elbowed Raheed. “Either way, I promise we will do something.”

            Raheed nodded, feeling slightly ill. He prayed to God that Jhali would be able to fulfill that promise, that Raheed would live to witness it.

            The mountains loomed before them, dark pyrmaids of rock that looked about as welcoming as an oncoming army. Raheed had learned that beyond them laid a vast oasis, one rich with minerals and trade, an oasis that the Mullis wanted access to. From that oasis came trade from the far east, treasures such as rice and silk, things that boggled the mind with its beauty and richness. If they managed to reach that oasis, they would feast for days, drink all the water they liked, bask under the shade of gigantic palm trees and meet the beautiful women it boasted. All they had to do was conquer the montains and the army guarding its bowels.

             They headed for the mountain pass. As they neared it, the saw several men on horseback standing at its entrance. Across the pass was built a large brick wall, crumbling and ancient. Clearly the Mulli were not the first people to invade these lands. The men did not run or shout, only stood by the gates and watched the immense Mulli army approach. Luckily the general waved the marching troops to a halt before they reached the wall, as fighting within firing range of the high ground was a quick way to halve your troops. They’d all been given shields, which was what they now raised to protect their torsos.

            The general and his officers spurred their horses into a gallop, meeting the Hahnars halfway between the wall and the Mulli troops. Raheed tried to stand taller to get a better look; he resisted the urge to climb onto Jhali for an improved view.

            “What are they talking about, you think?” Raheed whispered.

            “I can’t imagine much peace can be made now, can it?” Jhali’s eyes were cold. “With any luck, the Hahnar troops are a week behind us, trapped in a mountain pass on their way to us.”

            “Let us hope,” Raheed replied before elbowed silent by a nearby soldier. Raheed rolled his eyes but obeyed.

            Despite how fruitless parley seemed, the general and the Hahnars seemed to speak for quite some time. Finally, voices were raised and a sword was drawn. Raheed didn’t know whose was pulled from its scabbard first; he couldn’t see too well. The general and his officers immediately grabbed their weapons, stabbing one man in the throat and another in the gut. Two of the Hahnars were able to wheel their horses toward the gate, shouting at whoever stood past its walls. The heavy doors were opened, and the Hahnars were admitted. The general and his officers galloped back, one scratched but otherwise unharmed. The Hahnars’ horses trotted toward the gates but were not admitted, so they stood there, waiting. Raheed might have laughed if he were in the position to do so.

            The general shouted something, but Raheed could not hear him. The army began to move forward. They were storming the wall.

            “Shield high, brother,” Jhali whispered.

            Raheed gulped, clutching his shield close. It was the only thing protecting him from what flew above.

            The wall was not hard to take. Raheed was near the center of the troops, so by the time he reached the gate, it had been busted open and all the Hahnars were dead or about to be. A few soldiers stabbed the few remaining survivors, then looked to the general for further command. There were about a hundred Hahnars in all, nothing like the army they’d been expecting.

            “This is just a taste,” Raheed overheard the general  say, wheeling his horse to face the dark passage of the mountain pass. His blade glistened with the blood of the Hahnars he had parlied with. “I fear we will meet our match within the mountain.”

            As if to punctuate his remark, a whistling breeze rushed across Raheed’s face. He looked back through the open gate; dust devils followed their tail. Raheed was not as superstitious as some Mullis, but he knew bad signs when he saw them.

            “One small victory for today, I suppose,” Jhali said with a grin. 

            “Perhaps our luck will linger.”

            “We shall make it.” Jhali briefly bowed his head and whispered a prayer under his breath. “It is God’s will.”

            Raheed nodded, feeling ill at ease.

            


	6. Battle

             Raheed hadn’t felt much fear as a child. Perhaps it was because for so many years, he was poor and running around the streets, much like Asan. He’d been whipped and scorned, but his mood tended to stay light, even in dire circumstances. His first true taste of fear was when he was sold to the Mulli army. Going to a strange place with a strange language . . . he could recall that at least. Of course, he was mentored by Elder Hassad and provided luxuries he’d never even thought of as a child, so the fear was fleeting. Since then, it was a bit foreign.

            But he felt it now, running so thick in his veins that he feared his blood might stop pumping. Jhali swaggered around like he was the general himself, but Raheed sensed the same undercurrent of tension in him, in all of them. The first battle had been too easy. There was a reason Hahnars had resisted for so long. They were all waiting for the big hit.

            It came at night.

            Mullis fought with numbers. For insignificant amounts, Mulli had purchased soldiers from across oceans and mountain rangers, making it so varied that wherever there was a weakness, there was another’s strength. The Hahnars, Raheed found, fought much differently. They fought with stealth as well as a technique so malicious that even murderers would offer their admiration.

            This Raheed learned quickly. Those who did not were dead before they could take another breath.

            They had not expected an attack at night, though of course precautions were made. Watches shared shifts, keeping their eyes pinned on any shadow that moved independently of the rest. Everyone was nervous, so no one was letting down their guard. Raheed was lucky to not have been a part of that watch, as they were the first to be pierced by Hahnar arrows.

            Then there was confusion. It was much like the last attack the Hahnars had attempted on their camp, though this time the Mulli numbers were not skewed. Raheed didn’t know how many there were, only that they were suddenly everywhere, draped in black, all but their eyes hidden, swords moving as if they had their own desire for blood. Raheed was woken up with a hand fisting the front of his robes. When he opened his eyes, Jhali was looking down on him.

            “Arm yourself, quickly!”

            Raheed grabbed his sword from beneath the folded up tunic he’d used as a cushion for his head. Then he jumped to a stand, grabbing his quiver and crossbow as he followed Jhali through the fray. He was pleased to find that Habib was close behind, grim and determined. Raheed didn’t know where Kavin was. He could only hope he was safe.

            Someone stumbled against Raheed. His immediate reaction was to help them stand, but then he realized the man’s throat had been slashed open and the perpetrator was rushing forward, aiming for Raheed. Raheed’s blade met his just as Habib pierced the Hahnar’s stomach. Raheed simply nodded in thanks to Habib before sprinting after Jhali, who had nearly gotten lost in the fray.

            An arrow flashed by him, so close that Raheed could hear the whistle of it in his ear. He looked up into the looming rocks overhead; the Hahnars must have killed the Mulli assassins and replaced them with their own. It was these rocks where Jhali headed. Even in such chaos, it seemed that Jhali was able to keep his head.

            They reached the rock face but had to duck under a ledge to keep from getting shot. The Hahnar archers had noticed them.

            “How can they see in the dark?” Raheed hissed, breathing hard as he pressed his back against the rock.

            “The moon is nearly full,” Jhali replied. “We will have to climb up behind them where they can’t see us.”

            Raheed and Habib nodded, then followed Jhali along the rock face, ducking low to avoid detection. The sounds of swords meeting and guttural cries of pain filled the night behind them.

            “Habib,” Jhali said, pointing to a small crevice in the rock, narrow and completely black within. “Climb up there and see if you can make it to the top.”

            “But what about snakes—”

            “Go!” Jhali snapped, grabbing a handful of Habib’s robes and throwing him forward. Habib followed this order, his hesitant footsteps resonating in the dark.

            “Let’s see if there are other ways up,” Jhali hissed before sliding forward again. They crouched low, in hopes that they would blend into the darkness around them. Raheed wanted to remove his helmet; he could feel sweat beginning to run down his forehead, making him itch.

            As they felt their way around rocks and jagged inclines, the sounds of clashing swords grew softer. Sometimes a scream of horror or pain would permeate the night, making Raheed jump. It just didn’t seem like what he thought battle should be. There was no strategy to it, only chaos.

            “There.” Jhali pointed to a scar torn between the steep rock face. “Let us try this way.”

            “Be careful,” Raheed hissed. He wasn’t sure if Jhali even heard him, as he made no sign of acknowledgement. He only moved swiftly toward the crack and turned so that he could fit between it. Raheed watched him nearly vanish, then lift a hand to beckon Raheed forward.

            “Can you make it?” Raheed asked.

            “I think so. But it’s dark; we will have to feel our way.”  
            After several scorpion stings in his youth, Raheed knew that climbing about dark caves was not a wise idea. But scorpion stings would be worth it if he could take out some of the Hahnar archers standing above. Unfortunately, he had to abandon his bow and quiver, as they would not fit inside of the tight space with him.

            Raheed grasped the edge of Jhali’s cloak, not so much because he needed to be shown the way—there was only one way, _up_ —but because he gained a small slice of comfort from it. Jhali was not afraid, so Raheed would not be either.

            The going was long and arduous, sometimes requiring them to slip through tiny crevices in complete blackness. But suddenly Raheed could see the moon again, and he knew they would escape if only provided the opportunity. Hahnars would mostly likely be guarding little hide-outs such as these, but in the dark amongst many caverns, Raheed did not think it would pose much of a problem, at least not for Jhali. He was a very apt soldier.

            Jhali was the first to creep his head above the surface. In the scant light he gestured to Raheed before he began to climb out. Once he had found his footing, he grabbed both of Raheed’s offered arms and pulled him out as well.

            “Do you think Habib made it?” Raheed whispered.

            Jhali silenced him with a finger to his lips. They had not climbed very far, as they still stood in front of a steep wall of rock.

            Jhali tipped his head back, then leaned close enough for his breath to stir Raheed’s hair. “I think they are higher.”

            “So we climb?”  
            Jhali nodded, then pulled his sword from his scabbard. Raheed briefly wondered what he planned to do with it before Jhali clenched it between his teeth and began to climb the rock face, shoving his fingers and toes into whatever small crack they could find. It was not a particularly difficult climb, but Raheed doubted a fall would result in anything besides death.

            Taking a deep breath, Raheed put his sword between his teeth for easy access. It would not be possible to unsheath a sword when clinging to a cliff. He didn’t think it’d be possible to do _anything_ with a sword while clinging to a cliff, but he trusted Jhali’s judgement.

            It was a short climb, and Jhali helped pull him up as before. It was there they found a narrow trail that circled the incline, probably leading to the archers.  Jhali gave Raheed a small salute before creeping along this path, dust stirring where his feet slid.

            It did not take them long to encounter a Hahnar keeping watch of their high ground. The Hahnar turned upon hearing their approach, but he was not fast enough to compete with Jhali, and Jhali’s blade sliced through his throat. The Hahnar tumbled to the path, then rolled off the edge of the cliff, joining the furious blood bath below.

            Jhali turned to Raheed. “Do you have your bow and arrow?”

            Raheed shook his head. “I couldn’t bring them with.”

            Jhali sighed and then dug beneath his cloak. When he withdrew his hands, they held several small daggers, each blade about the length of a finger. Raheed had seen Jhali use them before; he was one of the few soldiers who could handle and throw them properly. He had tried teaching Raheed, but Raheed’s skills were mediocre in comparison. At least he had not accidentally gouged himself like Habib.

             Jhali gave Raheed his sword so that his hands would be free to implement the daggers. Now that Raheed held  a weapon in both hands, he felt a little safer. Very little.

            They encounted several more Hahnars quickly. This time they were leaning over what looked like a body. They jumped up and immediately aimed their arrows, but Jhali rolled out of the way just in time. An arrow caught and punctured Raheed’s cloak, but then landed in the earth with a dry _thump_.

            Seconds later, two Hahnars had been run through by flying daggers, both in the chest. The other Hahnar rushed forward with his sword, but Jhali was efficient and disposed of him quickly. Raheed felt rather useless in the face of Jhali’s bravery. However, all selfish thoughts vanished as Raheed looked at the body on the ground. He recognize the tattered hem of the cloak.

            “Jhali . . .?” he whispered, throat closing.

            But Jhali was already running forward, probably in search of more Hahnars to dispose of. In moments, he would be lost if Raheed did not catch up to him.

            Raheed stared at the blood stain soaking through the back of the cloak, most likely from a stab wound. He took note of wavy curly black hair that he and Jhali would often ruffle affectionately.

            Raheed stepped over the body, deciding that no good would come from turning it over and looking at its face. He knew what would greet him, and he knew it would haunt him. His nightmares were already unpleasant without Habib’s lifeless face to visit him.

             On shaking legs, Raheed tried to catch up to Jhali. But then he was ambushed, and Jhali several strides before him. A troop of what looked to be about  a dozen Hahnars jumped down upon them from above, black cloaks flapping as if they were hunting bats. Raheed had not given Jhali back his sword, as Jhali had not asked for it. He only remember this now, as he used both to protect himself from the attack. In his panic, he stabbed the closest body he could find, then another, shocked to find that both jabs landed in flesh. That was when his training seemed to click into place, and Raheed’s emotions trickled out of him, like water down a river bed. All he could see were Hahnars, especially those who ran in Jhali’s direction. He nearly called out Jhali’s name before realizing that doing so would only bring more Hahnars do them.

            Luckily Jhali was able to elbow a Hahnar in the face before acquiring the scimitar he wielded. He became a more formidable opponent, but Raheed was not a fool to believe two Mulli soldiers—even highly trained Mulli soldiers—could cut down more than five Hahnars by themselves.

            A blade sliced across Raheed’s brow. Within seconds, blood rolled down his face and caught in his eyeslashes. Though he was half-blinded, he knew that if he paused for a second, he would be killed. Raheed fought without the pride that Jhali carried; he fought only for self-preservation. It seemed that whenever he pushed a Hahnar away, there was another to take his place. Yet he was not dead. It was what kept him moving, kept him blinking through the warm blood in his right eye and fighting with all the zeal the Mulli army had been able to inspire within him.

            Raheed was shocked to find only one Hahnar left, though this one’s skill surpassed the others. Jhali had joined in on the duel, but was easily thrown back so that the Hahnar could attack Raheed. Their blades met, then bounced, nearly slicing through Raheed’s neck. Raheed saw a flash of metal behind the Hahnar and knew that Jhali would be ending this fight.

            But then the Hahnar swiftly pivoted and threw out his blade, cleanly parting Jhali’s head from his shoulders.

            Raheed tried to scream but couldn’t. His last burst of energy was thrown into a final thrust, putting his scimitar blade between the Hahnar’s ribs.

            The Hahnar stumbled but, shockingly, still advanced. Not expecting such retaliation, Raheed was caught off guard. The Hahnar shoved Raheed backward, and Raheed’s heel teetered on the edge of the cliff.

            Then he fell.

            It was a steep cliff, but not vertical. Raheed’s body slapped the earth several times before coming to a violent stop. A large, jagged rock blocked Raheed’s path to the bottom of the ravine, its lip striking him just above the bleeding wound he’d acquired earlier.

            There was no time to contemplate Jhali’s death. The battle was over; Raheed’s world collapsed into a black void and went silent.


	7. The General

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nerdy enough to suggest the [Crusader](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MnDJOm1J_Vk) soundtrack for this story, just cuz it's chill enough to be background music but remains atmospheric.
> 
> Not a big fan of writing battle or semi-battle scenes, but I do what I have to. XD

* * *

 

              For several hours, Raheed drifted in and out of consciousness. Finally he was hit by an ocean of pain so tumultuous that he was ripped from the silent, warm darkness and doused in the agonizing, cold reality of the dawn.

            Raheed tried to stand and quickly changed his mind. Not only was he practically dangling over the edge of a cliff, but dizziness overwhelmed him any time he even moved a limb. So he spent some time just staring at the sky, wondering how he got here. There had been a fight. No, a battle. In a war. Yes. That was what happened. He was pretty sure Jhali and Habib were dead, but that couldn’t be true, because that was awful. He couldn’t even imagine the prospect.

            There was silence surrounding him. All of the sounds of clashing metal from before were gone, replaced by a single chirp of an insect. He saw no figures above him, meaning that the Hahnars must have moved on or forgotten about him.

            It had to have been at least an hour before Raheed was able to sit up without vomitting. It took him almost as long to stand and begin his painful, confusing climb to the path where he’d rolled from. It was still littered with bodies, one of them obviously Mulli. Its head was missing, and Raheed was almost glad he couldn’t find it. Perhaps it had rolled down the cliff as he had. 

            With a broken sob, Raheed collapsed by Jhali’s body and leaned his dirty, bloody forehead on Jhali’s chest. He was stiff and cold, a shell that no longer housed any part of Jhali that Raheed remembered. Every soldier knew death was inevitable, but Raheed had imagined that of all of them, Jhali would last the longest. What purpose did God have for Raheed, that he had saved Raheed’s life and not Jhali’s? Did it even matter? Perhaps God fought for the Hahnars, despite all the ways they disrespected and rejected Him.

            Raheed recited a prayer, one of the few Jhali knew by heart. He imagined Jhali saying it with him, imagined the way Jhali’s lip would curl as they caught one another’s gaze at temple. Jhali did not have much reverence for God. Perhaps that was why he was headless and Raheed was not.

            Raheed found Jhali’s sword in the last man Raheed must have stabbed. He withdrew it from the Hahnar’s body, barely wincing at the sound and sensation. Then he placed it across Jhali’s chest, like how soldiers were buried at home. Live by the sword, die by the sword. It was all a soldier knew.

            Numb, exhaused, and in pain, Raheed found that the path made a slow spiral downward in the opposite direction Jhali and Raheed had come. He was glad of this, as it meant he did not have to come upon Habib’s body. His memory was coming back to him; that _had_ been Habib, he was almost sure. Then again, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Habib was waiting for him below, as well as Kavin. Maybe the Mullis were triumphant and they would get to go home.

            Raheed did not feel optimistic today, though. He knew that the only thing a Mulli triumph meant was more battle and more death.

            As he reached the base of the cliff, he began to see far more bodies. He became more cautious, keeping alert for any movement. He was hoping to spot some survivors, but all was still. He tried counting the bodies, trying to see who had lost more. But then he gave up and decided he didn’t even care. He was so tired; he just wanted to lay down and sleep for a few days.

            He heard the groan of a camel in the distance, so he dived behind a rock. The sudden movement nearly caused him to black out, but he forced his eyes open.

            Three men approached on camels, dressed in black.

            Hahnars.

            So the Mulli army had lost. Raheed had previously not cared, but now it stung him deep, realizing that everyone was either dead or captured. He’d been told Hahnars did not take prisoners except perhaps for Mulli soldiers’ servants. Those, they said, could be sold for a coin. No Hahnar noble would pay for a soldier, though. Too dangerous, too skilled, too literate. Only the poor and uneducated were easily subdued, one master simply traded for another.

            Raheed crouched there and tried to handle the harsh reality—everyone was dead. Habib was dead, Kavin was dead, Jhali was dead. The men whose names he forgot but whose faces he recognized were dead. The officers who had led them—dead. The general—dead.

            Raheed began to shake, his breathing coming in harsh gasps. He kept a hand clapsed firmly over his mouth as the Hahnars drifted closer. Raheed might have been afraid yesterday, but he was terrified into a stupor right now. They would find him here behind this rock. He would not die like the rest of his comrades, in the spirit of war. This would be a calculated killing. The Hahnars hated Mullis. They would not kill him kindly.

            Their voices drifted nearby. Elder Hassad had briefly covered Hahnar language, enough that Raheed could say several phrases. The army did not think it important, as it was a soldiers’ job to kill Hahnars, not chat them up. Unlike other cultures, the Hahnar way of life was not considered one to emulate, and therefore their language was considered dirty, inferior. Raheed had gone beyond his duty to learn any of it.

            To his vast relief, the Hahnars drifted away, leading their camels to the other side of the ravine. Raheed knew that even though they were at a distance, he could not risk moving. In such a still, silent place, any movement would be noticed. Besides, Raheed could outrun no one at this point. Even standing made him dizzy.

            Raheed drifted in and out of sleep until the sun was at its highest point. The heat was not so unbearable at such an altitude, but the Hahnars stopped picking through bodies for supplies to steal and began to drift away. This was when Raheed came to face the fact that if he stayed here, he would die. He was sure the food had been taken, as well as the camels who carried the water. To his knowledge, there were no oases in these mountains. They were just dry mounds of dirt separating a desert from fertile valleys. He’d heard the Hahnar side of them was wet enough to support life, but not on the side facing the vast desert.

            Raheed considered just lying her and letting himself die—what was the point of going on further, anyway?—when he saw a snake slither nearby. Okay, well, perhaps he didn’t want to die of a snake bite.

            He stood and began walking in the direction from which the Hahnars had come. He began to search bodies, looking for water or supplies. He found a half-empty canteen to wet his throat, but that was about it. What he hoped was a bag of food turned out to contain nothing more than some soap, a shaving knife, and some clothes. He kept it, because at least then he would die with a well-trimmed beard.

            Raheed stopped to inspect some drag marks in the sandy dirt, marked by trails of blood. Horses. The Hahnars had even come back to take the Mulli’s dead horses, probably to eat them in celebration.

            Knowing that the Hahnars had picked the battle scene clean of anything useful, Raheed began to follow the drag marks. Perhaps he could filch something from the Hahnar camp while they weren’t looking. And then what? Did it matter? He was too thirsty to consider what might happen in the future.

            The walk was mostly uphill, which brought on waves of disorientation. Raheed was used to physical exhaustion, however, and continued. He tripped once or twice on protruding stones, but he would pick himself up and move on before he darkness prickling his vision could take over. Finally his memory seemed to latch into place, so he stopped forgetting things.

            Suddenly something grabbed him from behind. Raheed whirled, sword already held aloft. He barely stopped in time.

            A man stood before him in blood-drenched robes, helmet missing, hair askew and face sporting several bloody gashes. There was a split down his lip that looked particularly gory. However, he was not Hahnar. In fact, once Raheed looked through the dirt and blood covering him, Raheed recognized him. He was surprised he could, since he’d mostly seen the general from afar, on top of a beautiful horse.

            Raheed’s eyes widened. He then lowered his sword.

            General Mamid jerked Raheed to his hiding place, which was a shadowed crevice in the rock wall. He walked with a limp, and Raheed finally realized that not all of the blood was old or foreign. Some of it leaked from a wound in the general’s side.

            The crevice was hidden by a large boulder, so they were relatively safe from Hahnar attention at the moment. The general leaned against the crevice wall, looking both resolute and agonized.

            “What is your name, soldier?” the general asked. His voice was weak, but it carried undeniable authority.

            Raheed might have bowed had he the room to do so. “Raheed, sir.”

            “You are young.”

            Raheed nodded. “This is just my second battle, sir.”

            The general chuckled briefly before closing his eyes. “You’re the only one in which it’s not your last.”

            “Are there any others . . .?”

            “Not that I’ve found. Some may have run off and hidden somewhere on the mountain, and the Hahnars know it. They have sent out scouts to find survivors.”

            “Sir, you’re hurt—”

            The general shook his head sharply. “Don’t. We don’t have time. The longer we stay here, the faster they will find us. We aren’t any good dead, are we?

            “No, sir.” Raheed swallowed, cowed by the general’s clear mind, even in the face of injury. Raheed wished he could have similar strength.

            “They know what awaits us if they don’t find us. There’s no water within a fifty mile’s walk, and that’s why they chose this point—because it’s a death trap for any stragglers. They didn’t just want to defeat us, they wanted to _eliminate us_.” The general groaned and clenched his side for a moment. “Do you have any significant injuries, Raheed?”

            “Only a slight head injury, sir. I will be fine.”

            The general nodded. “We need supplies in order to make it down the mountain.”

            “Down, sir?”

            “We’re not going any further in this condition. Like I said, we’re of no use dead. What we need is to return and recooperate. We know their strategies now; it’ll help for further skirmishes. Our best hope is retreat.”

            “It is a long way, sir. Neither of us are at our best.”

            “No. But we must try. The problem is that they are guarding their supplies zealously, and unlike other enemies, they look very different from us. A disguise would likely be futile.”

            Raheed looked out into the sunlit path, thinking.

            “What is it?” the General Mamid asked.

            “Someone told me once that they only people they take alive are servants.”

            The general nodded. “I believe they took mine, though I’m not sure if he’ll make it. He was injured very badly.”

            Raheed expected some sort of sentimental inflection in General Mamid’s voice, but he sounded just as stern as he always did. There was a brief flicker in his eyes, but Raheed couldn’t place it.

            Raheed pulled open the bag he’d acquired and took out the soap. “Perhaps, sir, we could use a shave.”

            The general frowned. “Are you suggesting—”

            “Yes, sir. I am a good actor, sir. I used to participate in all of those extracurricular shadow puppet shows. They said I was quite good, quite funny—”

            “They’ll take you prisoner the moment they see us.”

            “Don’t they have slaves already? Men they’ve captured before?”

            “Those slaves would know Hahnar.”

            “I know _some_ Hahnar.”  
            “How much?”

            Raheed shrugged. “Enough to pass, sir.”

            The general frowned, not seeming to care much for the idea but probably not capable of creating better ones. He stroked his beard in thought. Now it looked a bit wild, but in the best of circumstances it was kept full yet trimmed. If Raheed wanted to be a servant, he would have to relinquish the most prized symbol of his class. To shave it was to relinquish the prestige so many slaves and servants coveted. To no one’s surprise, the trimming of a man’s beard was seen as the most public and humiliating way to shame him.

            But war was war, and Raheed was thirsty.

            “The Hahnar servants dress differently.”

            “We’ll go when it’s dark. There are some extra clothes in this bag; I will make do.”

            The plan was tenative and perhaps foolish, but Raheed didn’t think there was any other way.

*

 

            Raheed told General Mamid he would look for supplies that the Hahnars had missed, though he was not optimistic. The general wanted to help, but he was weak from blood loss. He was proud by not stupid, so he let Raheed go. Raheed thought this fortunate, as he had a bit of something else up his sleeve, something not many soldiers were told. Luckily Elder Hassad was not as holy as he claimed to be, and he told Raheed some things of which the temple would not approve. It could very well be something to save his life.

            Raheed stooped and rubbed his fingers in some ash. Looking around once more to make sure he had no tails, Raheed rubbed some of the ash around his eyes. In religious ceremonies men would don kohl around their eyes, but it was usually relegated to women. At least, it was for Mullis. He didn’t know about Hahnars, but perhaps it was alluring in all genders.

            Raheed returned empty-handed as expected. The general had tied several torn robes across his torso, putting pressure on his wound and allowing him to stand straight. They used soap, spit, and rags to shave and clean themselves off as best they could, though General Mamid did not ask about the ash. Perhaps he trusted Raheed.

            Raheed felt a bit proud about that.           

            It was odd seeing the general without his beard. Raheed couldn’t help but think a little less of him now, as if he suddenly ceased to be the man that Raheed had admired for bravery and skill. He was perhaps thinking the same of Raheed, though of course Raheed had not proved himself yet in the way that the general had. 

            As the sun set, they began their ascent to the Hahnar camp. Raheed and the general wore long loose robes, mostly to hide the swords they kept beneath them. Hopefully they would not need to use them, but a part of Raheed couldn’t wait to. Hahnars had killed his friends, his brothers, his people. It would be a great shame to let them all live.

            The camp was well guarded, but considering the laughter and music from inside, it was also mostly drunk. The Hahnars had no restrictions for alcohol from what Raheed had read, so they were free to get as inebriated as they desired. Raheed had not counted on such good fortune.

            “Look,” the general hissed in Raheed’s ear. He pointed to where a long line of camels stood, many of them carrying large tubs of water. Raheed recognized some of the horses as their own, all of them ladened with food and supplies as well.

            It seemed God ruled in their favor once more, because the entrance to the camp was not the only exit. There were several paths leading to the circle of tents, one of which was gloriously close to the tied camels. If they could sneak around, they might even be able to take one without anyone noticing. That is if there weren’t several Hahnar guards standing watch.

              “There is no cover or hiding places between here and there,” General Mamid muttered. “There are at least thirty camels. If we take one from the end, it’s possible they won’t even notice. But getting over there will be tricky. There are Hahnars everywhere. You don’t know how they react with servants and slaves.”

            “I assume it’s similar everywhere.”

            While guards were plenty, there were gaps through which one could slip if an eye was kept open for where the guards looked. Raheed was relatively sure that Mulli guards wouldn’t look twice at two servants, but then again, if they had the skin of Hahnars, they probably would. Raheed rolled his hands up into his sleeves and pulled his shemagh across his eyes, hoping to attract as little attention as possible.

            “Pretend you are drunk,” Raheed whispered, “if we are stopped.”

            “That should be easy,” the general muttered. Clearly he was not as religious as some would believe.

            Taking a deep breath, Raheed strode forward, hoping to slip through the line of Hahnars standing watch. However, just as he was nearly past them, he was stopped by a gruff call.

            The general and Raheed both turned to face him. The Hahnar glared at him from beneath his dark red turban, sword held at ready. As much as Raheed wanted to stab the man, he instead responded with a high-pitched giggle.

            “Ooooh!” Raheed laughed, rushing forward to pinch the tip of the sword between his fingers. “Nice!”

            The Hahnar stared in bewilderment for a second, then rolled his eyes and shoved Raheed back. Raheed nearly fell over, and the sharp movement made his gut clench. However, vomitting might actually be in his favor at the moment.

            The guard turned his back to them, clearly deciding them harmless.

            “You’re very smart, you know that?” the general whispered.

            Raheed might have blushed if he weren’t so terrified.

            They did not draw attention to themselves, moving swiftly and softly. Raheed did see a few lighter-skinned men, all of them deferring to their Hahnar superiors. Raheed resisted the urge to grab them and bring them along with him. The fantasy wasn’t possible, as he doubted they were even Mulli. Mullis were soldiers, and their servants were from foreign conquered nations. Hahnar servants probably saw no reason to pick loyalty for one over the other, though Raheed would like to think Mullis were far kinder to their inferiors. After all, Hahnars killed with the efficiency of wolves. He couldn’t imagine them valuing compassion.

            Finally they made it to the herd of camels and horses tethered to stakes in the ground.  Most of the camels were not standing, which would make it harder to steal them. Raheed had his eyes set on a small camel toward the ege of the group, as it was upright and awake. Two bony horses stood alongside it, heads drooping and eyes closed. They’d most likely been acquired through another conquest, as Hahnars did not favor horses and Mullis, who considered horses objects of status, took better care of theirs.

            “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” the general asked.

            “I think so,” Raheed replied.

            Ten or so guards stood in a huddle near the front of the animals, laughing and drinking from several bottles being passed around. Raheed didn’t think them drunk _yet_ , but they could be soon. It looked too easy to slip past them and just grab a straggler. Until Raheed noticed that all of the animals were chained and locked.

            Of course.

            “Do you see the keys anywhere?” the general whispered.

            “Hanging from a post behind the guards.” Raheed pointed.

            The general frowned. “Then perhaps we will just steal the supplies instead.”

            “We are both weak and injured. We will not be able to carry the supplies we need for survival all the way down a mountain.”

            “We’re in a pass, so it’s not exactly a whole mountain . . .”

            “Sir—”           

            Someone hooted at them from behind. Raheed turned and found several Hahnars staring straight at them. For the first time, it was not with hatred or belligerence. In fact, they seemed to be in good spirits, perhaps looking to harass some servants.

            Raheed gulped. He knew that the general was a man of little humor and posessed short temper—he’d heard the stories. If anyone was going to play nice, it would have to be Raheed, even if he despised Hahnars at the moment.

            Raheed bowed hastily. “Good evening.”

            The Hahnars chuckled and gestured toward one another while talking in low voices. They were either mocking him or admiring him, Raheed couldn’t be sure. He had yet to see a Hahnar with a sense of humor.

            One of the Hahnars gestured him forward. Raheed threw a sideways look at the general, who moved with him. Maybe one of them could pull the Hahnars away from their post while the other snuck up to grab the keys. Raheed had no delusions over who would be the distraction.

            “Good evening,” Raheed said again. He’d about exhausted his Hahnar vocabulary at this point.

            One of the taller Hahnars said something to the others, and they all laughed. Raheed tried to look amused. They’d probably figured out he didn’t speak Hahnar, but maybe if he was charming enough they wouldn’t care.

            Then one of the Hahnars asked him a question. It had to be question, as they all seemed to look at him for an answer. Raheed pretended not to notice the general slowly sliding to Raheed’s left.

            Raheed shook his head and backed up, bowing his head in what he hoped was servantile behavior. The Hahnars looked good-humored now, but he knew what they were like angry.

            “Ha!” One of the Hahnars took several steps forward, and then the rest followed. They were actually coming after him. The general, who looked haggard and tired even missing his graying beard, went unnoticed. This worked in his favor as he moved closer to the post with the keys.

            “Madal,” said one, pointing to himself. Raheed realized that he was making the sign Asan and Raheed had created for “me”. For this reason, Raheed understood.

            “Asan,” Raheed replied, as Asan was not an instantly recognizable Aillic name.

            Madal, the largest and most fearsome-looking of all the Hahnars, said something that made the others laugh. Raheed decided to laugh as well, which made them laugh harder. Raheed had no idea he was such a comedian. Then again, they _had_ consumed a considerable amount of wine.

            “Madal,” Raheed repeated with a fake grin. “Nice!”

            This amused the Hahnars further. Raheed almost allowed himself to relax before one reached out and grabbed the haphazard turban Raheed had tied around his head. Raheed’s forced laughter stopped instantly, and it took all of his willpower to keep himself from punching the Hahnar in the gut. The turban was poorly tied and folded, so it came loose in the Hahnar’s hand, leaving Raheed’s head bare, including the gash along his forehead.

            Out of the corner of Raheed’s eye, he saw Mamid approach the post with the keys. However, he stood only about a stride behind the captivated Hahnars, meaning that if Raheed’s act failed for an instant, they were dead.  
            Which was why Raheed put up with the sudden hand in his hair.

            Hahnars did not show their hair, at least not in Raheed’s experience of them. He’d read it was different than Mulli hair, which would explain why they seemed fascinated by his. Then again, Mullis seemed to take notice of it as well. The one maid that Raheed would occasionally encounter used to joke that she would mop the floor with his hair. Others said it resembled the wool of a goat, curly but hanging loose. It had been tucked up inside helmet for months, so it looked about as greasy as the grilled duck he’d buy in the marketplace. The Hahnars didn’t seem to mind.

            Raheed grinned and beared it, though he was beginning to regret this “flirtatious servant” act. He knew the Hahnars, unlike Mullis, had much different morals. Men did not think it odd to bond beyond the usual boundaries of frienship. In his effort to learn more about them, Raheed had encountered a page in a book about an occasional Hahnar taking on a _jusef_ , a male wife. At the time he’d found it rather distasteful, gross almost. Now he felt pretty much the same say, though he was glad he’d known about it. It was much easier to be a distraction when one could use good looks to his advantage.

            When Raheed glanced at the general, he noticed he was gone. So were the keys.

            Raheed felt a brief surge of panic, wondering if Mamid had planned on leaving him behind. It would be no great sacrifice, as Raheed was a mere foot soldier. Mamid was important to the empire of Mulli but Raheed was not. It’d make more sense to leave with a camel and horse while Raheed had the Hahnars distracted.

            Raheed pulled back from the hand that touched him, tried to smile through the tossing of his stomach, and did his best to slink away. A few hands caught his sleeve, but he apologized (he did know how to do that) and took off in the direction of the camp, so as not to seem suspicious. Once he had vanished from the Hahnars’ sight, he did his best to make a wide loop, avoiding Hahnars as best he could. Without his turban and veil, Raheed’s head would stand out in the dark. He was still a bit shocked the Hahnars hadn’t seemed concerned with the wound on his forehead. Vaguely he wondered if they were used to battered servants.

            Since the guards were still laughing and drinking, Raheed didn’t have to worry about them noticing him. He spotted a dark, crouched figure unlocking the chains that connected a camel and two horses. So General Mamid had not yet left. Raheed’s chest inflated with relief.

            “Sir,” Raheed hissed.

            The general lifted his head briefly and nodded. “Thank you.” He stood and dropped a chain into Raheed’s hand. “Your horse.”

            “I thought you’d left without me.”

            The general gave Raheed a very severe look before shaking his head and then untying the camel. When he tugged on its chain, it let out a resistant moan.

            “Shhhhh,” Raheed whispered, even though telling a camel to be quiet was probably the dumbest thing he’d done. He reached forward to stroke its neck, then let it sniff his hair, which was already mussed from Hahnar hands. The camel wiggled its lips, then attempted to take a bite from the “grass” on his head.         

            “Hey!” Raheed whispered, pulling away and giving the camel a glare. The camel just looked dumbly at him.

            “We’ll move the animals slowly so that no one hears or sees them,” the general said. “Meanwhile, we will try to stand behind them.”

            It was a nervewracking process. Raheed wanted to leap onto his horse and gallop away, but he knew that the Hahnars could easily jump upon the Mulli horses and chase them down—it’d be no contest. And with a camel in tow, there was no real hope for speed. So they crept, moving one step every minute. Raheed expected someone to notice, waited for a Hahnar to call out moments before an arrow pierced his chest, but there was nothing. Only the fading sound of laughter and crackling fires.

            There was a rock wall with a recess in which they hid for ten minutes. They might have been able to hide the horses, but the camel was too large to fit anywhere. And there were still guards to worry about, considering they stood on the perimeter of the camp. With a camel and two horses, there would be no flirting their way out of this one.

            When two guards approached their hiding spot, General Mamid wasted no time. He ordered Raheed to take one while he fought the other. They would have to be careful—one cry would ruin their whole operation.

            Raheed put his blade in the center of the unsuspecting Hahnar’s throat, silencing him immediately. When General Mamid’s swing was avoided, he quickly wrapped the chain he held around the man’s throat and tightened. The Hahnar tried to scream but could not find the air to do so. One horrible minute later, he collapsed at the general’s feet. Mamid asked Raheed to put their bodies somwhere where they would not be noticed. Then he was ordered to immediately mount. They had to move quickly before more guards took their place.

            As they walked their horses down the mountain, Raheed was shocked by how easy it had seemed. Besides some slight molestation, they were walking away unharmed and unsuspected.

            They had been riding for only fifteen minutes before the expected happened: an attack from above. Luckily, Raheed had been expecting it. The general most likely had as well, but as he was in front, he was the one they fell upon. There must have been Hahnars standing on the rocks that stretched above them, waiting for a moment like this.

            There were no arrows, only men in black robes leaping upon Raheed. His horse jolted underneath him but merely stumbled under the sudden weight of a second man. Instead of feeling the usual fear, Raheed just experienced intense anger. He had made it this far; couldn’t these Hahnars just _leave him alone_? So before the Hahnar could even make a proper attack, Raheed twisted around and dug his elbow into the man’s nose. The man fell off of Raheed’s horse, though he grasped Raheed’s sleeve and took him with him.

            Instead of spooking like the Mulli mounts would have, the tired horse just stopped and let Raheed fall. Raheed landed on the Hahnar, delivering another unintentional blow to the man’s chest. They both scrambled to grasp their swords, though Raheed was a second faster. A second was all it took for Raheed to bury his blade in the Hahnar’s neck—a technique he found effective. Blood struck him across his upper lip and left cheek, but he had barely any time to acknowledge it before another Hahnar slammed into his back, his knife catching Raheed’s loose tunic instead of his back. Raheed twisted around and stabbed this Hahnar instead, burying his sword deep into the man’s gut. After giving the blade a quick twist, he shoved the Hahnar off of him and scrambled to a stand.        

            A Hahnar was seated on General Mamid’s chest, their arms locked, trying to cut one another with the blades they held. Raheed didn’t hesitate. He took two steps and brought his sword straight down against the Hahnar’s neck. Like with Jhali, it was a clean cut. Raheed had not expected it to give so easily; perhaps he shouldn’t have struck with such force.

            What had felt like a small army only turned out to be four men. All of them were dead within a minute.

            Breathing sharply through his nose, Raheed bent to help his general stand. Blood had splattered across his face as well. For a second they stood staring at one another, as if struck by the gruesome moment. Raheed felt pressure behind his eyes, but he experienced a far firmer grip in his stomach. Moments later, he turned and vomitted, still tasting the Hahnar blood that dripped from his cheek across his mouth.

            When all he could do was dry heave, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up through teary eyes at General Mamid, who had a sliver of compassion on his usually cold face.

            “Come,” the general muttered, squeezing Raheed’s shoulder. “We must make it to the bottom of the mountain by dawn.”

            Feeling as if he’d collapse in exhaustion any moment, Raheed nodded and stood, not allowing himself to lean on the general. They both mounted their horses and continued their journey as if nothing had happened, leaving four dead, bloody Hahnars behind.


	8. The Desert

             Raheed had fallen asleep on his horse and was surprised to find himself still seated when he woke. They were at the gates which through they’d come. The dead bodies were still there, picked apart by vultures and then half-rotted in the sun. Raheed heard the loud buzz of flies as they passed the tattered corpses. His stomach heaved again, but he did not vomit.

            They stopped once past the gate and set up camp underneath a low-hanging rock. It would protect them from the harsh sun, whose heat had returned with full strength. On the camel they found not only water but several bags of feed for the horses and the camel. It would not last forever, but perhaps long enough to get them to the next mountain range, where they might find the spring where they’d had their first Hahnar encounter.

            They took turns sleeping. Raheed looked forward to his watch, as sleep brought him dreams, none of which were kind. He woke with a start and a muffled cry to find the general watching him, eyes blank.

            “I’m sorry,” Raheed whispered, tears in his eyes at the horror of what lurked in the dreamy recesses of his mind. “Nightmares.”

            “You’ll get used to them,” said Mamid, then turned his back.

 

*

 

            They cleaned their wounds as best as they could manage with their limited supplies, then started their trek as the sun began to dip in the sky. Raheed had thought himself fit for travel, but within several hours, he felt as if he might fall from his horse. He knew General Mamid was feeling no better, but perhaps he was more talented at cloaking his exhaustion. And as if things could not get worse, Raheed’s horse began to limp as dawn stained the horizon orange and purple.

            “What do you think it is?” Raheed asked as Mamid inspected the horse’s problem foot.

            Mamid rubbed his hands over the horse’s leg, pasterns, and fetlocks. In the end, his hand lingered on the coronary band, the narrow strip of white fur just above the horse’s hoof.

            “This feels hot to me.” He put the hoof down. “The most likely explanation is a bruise that’s formed into an abcess. He should be fine once the abcess blows, but that could be a week, and it will only grow worse until it does.”

            Raheed looked all around him, out across the empty sandy flats that offered no answers. “What do you propose we do?”

            “We’ll need the horse. He’s been carrying more than just you.” General Mamid gestured toward the sacks of dried fruit and meat that had been their only source of food thus far. “The camel and the other horse probably can’t carry more than what they’ve got. They already look skinny and weak enough.”

            Raheed didn’t know what to say, as he had no answers.

            “We can’t wait here. Not when we’re already stretched enough with water and the like.” General Mamid turned, squinting his eyes as he gazed into the distance. “I only see one option, and it’s going to be dangerous.”

            “What would that be, sir?”

            “If my mental map is correct, there is a rather infamous Hahnar oasis about a two day’s walk from here. It’s small, but it’s been a coveted piece of land for centuries. It’s the only true water source between the other side of those mountains and Mulli territory.”

            “The spring where we were—”

            “There is very little water or sustenance there, barely enough to fill more than a few jugs. But we knew we had to stop there or else brave the Khamal Oasis Hahnars, which even the Hahnars themselves have not been able to accomplish.”

            “Aren’t the Khamal Oasis Hahnars . . . Hahnars?”

            “Of a different variety. There are dialect differences, religious differences. You’ll find that Hahnars in front of the mountains and Hahnars behind the mountains are very different species. The Hahnars behind the mountains see little strife—they are protected by sea on one side and a mountain range on the other. Only their soldiers see war. But those who share a border with Mullis have fought for generations, and they will kill anything that looks like a Mulli soldier before they even see his face. It is a small settlement, the Khamal Oasis, but you’ll find no more dangerous Hahnars anywhere within their empire. They know the value of their land and to take it from them would require more than numbers but a creed from God himself.”

            “So where we stopped before is too far.”

            “Correct. It has to be Khamal or nothing. Granted I can recall its direction.”

            “And once we stop?”

            “We will have enough water to stop and rest. If the horse does not improve, well, we will see what we do from there. But we cannot stay here. You will have to dismount and walk, of course.”

            Lovely. Then again, Raheed had walked all the way here. The soles of his feet were nothing more than calluses at this point. Yet his head still felt heavy and sore, as if it had been dragged along jagged rocks for several days. He knew within several hours that he and his horse might very well die in this desert. While his horse began to heavily favor its front leg, Raheed kept fighting dizzy spells. The spells would hit him so hard that he’d have to lean on his horse in order to stay upright. Even if he’d been in the position to ask his superior to lend his horse, Raheed knew General Mamid was in no better condition. Some blood was still leaking from the wound in his side.

            Raheed wished the Hahnars had killed him like they had everyone else. It was much kinder to go to a blade through the neck than it was to slowly die of thirst and illness out in the middle of an abandoned wasteland.

            By the next day (well, _night_ , technically), Raheed was certain he wasn’t going to make it more than a few miles, nor was his horse. He’d only been standing for a few minutes before he was vomiting up the little food he’d tried eating upon waking up. The vomit coagulated on the sand, looking like mostly spit and a few undigested bits of dried fruit. His stomach clenched and his throat tensed, but nothing more than stomach bile could find its way out. Then his head began to pound so ferociously that black dots swam across his vision. It became so severe that the general finally offered to dismount and allow Raheed use of his horse. While it was slightly easier to stay upright when not relying on his weak legs, Raheed found the dizzy spells to occur at the same rate.

            “I think I’m going to die, sir,” Raheed couldn’t help but whimper, holding his gut and his head at once. As he did so, his finger disturbed the delicate clot that had formed over his wound, resulting in a small dribble of blood to trickle down his face.

            “You’ve come this far. No one is going to die, not even this damned horse.”

            Raheed wanted to cry but didn’t. He might have if he were alone, but in the presence of a man who had seen worse, Raheed would look like a total fool.

            General Mamid began bleeding again, and Raheed convinced him that he was well enough to walk. They discussed perhaps riding the same horse together, but dismissed it. The animals were already burdened enough. Two grown men on one skinny overburdened horse would result in nothing more than two lame horses. And of course the camel carried all of their precious water, so there was no hope of riding it either.

            Dawn began to lighten the skies. When it did, Raheed peered through the morning haze. He saw something jagged thrusting up toward the sky in the distance.

            “Khamal Peak,” General Mamid explained. “That is the border of Khamal Hahnar land. Beyond that, we’ll find water if we look carefully. Not in large amounts—the large springs are in the center of the town, guarded—but there are a few smaller ones that come to ground along the border.”

            The thought of rest was what powered Raheed through the long walk between where he was and where that rock stabbed the horizon. He thought of the grass he might rest his head on, the scent of vegetation, perhaps a bird, perhaps a tree. . . oh, how he missed home . . .

            To get into Khamal, they had to climb a steep incline. At this point, Raheed was sure he never wanted to see a mountain again. There were several times that he collapsed and he was convinced he could not continue. But then General Mamid would grab him by the collar and straighten him, offering a “Keep walking” as encouragement. So Raheed walked. He focused all of his energy on putting one foot in front of another and, like his horse, limped forward.

            Finding springs in such dead lands was easy—you only had to find where the plants grew. One weed became two, and then they began to multiply quickly as the water source approached. When Raheed saw the glisten of a shallow pool, he fell to his knees with a sigh and a slight smile.

            “Are we here?” he asked General Mamid. “Can we please stop now?”

            General Mamid did not smile, but he looked pleased. He nodded to Raheed, then turned his head to scan their surroundings. He had warned Raheed several times before they’d climbed the rock—there was no more dangerous place for a Mulli to be than where they stood. They had to be vigilant.

            They bundled up the reins of their animals and forced them between a deep groove in the rock, as there were no trees to tie them too. Then Raheed laid out a thin grass mat and immediately fell asleep, one the darkest and dreamless sleeps he’d had in a long time.

 

*

 

            A foot nudged Raheed awake.

            “ _Ugh_ ,” Raheed groaned, wrapping an arm around his head. “Can you give me a moment? Just—” Raheed inhaled sharply, clenching his eyes shut until his vision snapped back into place. It took him a while to get his legs and arms underneath him and perhaps even longer to do so without his head screaming, but finally he was able to sit straight.

            Two robed legs stood in front of him, but they were not General Mamid’s.

            Raheed’s head snapped back. For a second he was blinded by sunlight, but even though the man’s face wasn’t clear, the color and cut of his robes was.

            “ _Shit_ ,” Raheed hissed under his breath.

            The Hahnar smiled in the manner a man might before cutting off the head of a thief. “Welcome to Khamal, Mulli.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up to those who don't know, I have a Tumblr that has art from this story BUT it is also pretty damn spoilery. The following links are okay though: [a temporary and quick cover](http://wandarox.tumblr.com/image/48896077137) and [Asan and Raheed, both when they first met and later in their life](http://wandarox.tumblr.com/image/39620927715). 
> 
> Lastly, fun fact. My horse once had an abscess in his foot. It was kinda gross. :/ Not as gross as strangles though. STRANGLES IS HELLA GROSS. Maybe one day I'll tell you a story about that. OR NOT.


	9. Khamal

             Before Raheed could ask why the Hahnar spoke Aillic, someone was thrown at Raheed’s side, hands bound and helmet removed. It was General Mamid. Raheed was pleased to see that he was alive, but he had sustained at least one injury, a bloody mouth. As Raheed had been asleep, he wasn’t sure how their camp out had been compromised, but if they could overcome General Mamid without killing him, they had to be skilled people indeed.

            Raheed finally took the time to observe their company. There seemed to be about ten of them, all dressed in pale colored robes and sandals, their heads covered by both turbans and long veils. In such harsh sunlight, Raheed couldn’t even make out their features, only the whites of their eyes and thick beards that obscured half of their faces. Except the one who had spoken to Raheed. His beard had been started, but he was younger than Raheed had first assumed, probably Raheed’s age. His age did not come at a sacrifice of anything else, however. He still moved with the same menacing air as the rest, a long blade clutched in one hand while his other grasped the thick belt at his waist. Raheed noticed a scorpion pin on his breast much like the one Raheed had found on the dead Hahnar before—perhaps the Hahnars they had killed were in fact Khamal Hahnars.

            There was a long tense moment in which Raheed stared in silence at the others. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he began to analyze the expressions on their faces. There was no kindness or compassion there. He had wondered if perhaps Khamal Hahnars would look any different than the Hahnars who had killed his friends on the mountain, but Raheed could find nothing discernbile.

            When nothing was said, Raheed cleared his throat.

            “Your Aillic’s decent,” he said to the one who had spoken to him.

            Every Hahnar turned to the young Hahnar, as if waiting for his response. His expression of disdain melted slightly, replaced by wicked amusement.

            “Better than your Hahnar, I am sure,”  he replied. His accent was thick but his words were perfectly clear.

            “Yeah, probably. If I spoke to you in Hahnar, you’d kill me for my offense.”

            Then the Hahnar laughed, something Raheed had never heard before. The men around him shifted, looking at one another in confusion. Clearly they did not speak Raheed’s language so well.

            “I want to thank you, Mulli.” The young man turned and gestured to the horses and camel. “You brought us such generous gifts. We will take good care of them, I assure you.”

            Raheed almost told him that they were actually _Hahnar_ horses and camels, so technically they weren’t Mulli gifts at all, but he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

            “It would be a shame to punish such generosity with death, but, well . . .” The Hahnar shrugged, as if this were not a shame at all, “ . . . I am sure that as soldiers, you have no family to mourn your death anyway.”

            The quiet atmosphere was disturbed by the sharp ring of metal being unsheathed, and Raheed, who had wanted to die several hours ago, desperately tried to find a way out of it.

            “Wait!” Raheed cried. “Wait, hang on a second. We weren’t here to cause trouble, I swear. Our horse became lame and—well, it wasn’t our choice to come here, really, but we were hoping with some rest it might improve and if you just let us go, then we’ll be gone within the week!”  
            The Hahnar murmured something to his peers, and they all laughed, as if Raheed’s plea were some comedic wonder. As their laughter died down, the main Hahnar’s smile remained.

            “Oh, Mulli, we care not about your problems. It is not the first time we’ve heard a Mulli beg.”

            “Yes, but have you seen a Mulli _this handsome_ beg?”

            The Hahnar blinked a moment, then chuckled. Laughter was good, right? Perhaps if Raheed played a joker for long enough, they might find him entertaining enough to spare his life. Raheed couldn’t help General Mamid, though. He, it seemed, had been resigned to his death and was highly unamused by Raheed’s cowardly attempts to delay it.

            The Hahnar relayed the joke to his peers once more, and they too found it amusing. Raheed smiled awkwardly, hoping that his efforts weren’t in vain. Elder Hassad had always called him too smart for his own good. Perhaps it might save his life.

            “Ah, I’ve seen many handsome Mullis, but very few funny ones.” The Hahnar crossed his arms over his chest. Even though he was Raheed’s age, he probably outweighed Raheed. His facial hair was more impressive as well. “Tell me. You have the shaved faces and clothing of servants but carry the swords of soldiers. Which one are you, soldier or servant?”

            “Servant, of course.” Raheed jerked his head at General Mamid. “So is he.”

            “Two servants, wandering about the desert.” The Hahnar clucked his tongue. “How very odd.”

            “We were servants for Mulli soldiers. We escaped the battle on the mountain.”

            “How did you do that? With all the fighting skills taught to servants, I assume?”

            “I am a clever servant.”       

            The Hahnar pursed his lips. “Yes, I am seeing that. We Khamal Hahnars are not unreasonable people. Mulli servants are less abhorrent to us than Mulli soldiers, but I do not believe either of you is a servant. Especially him.” The Hahnar jerked his head at General Mamid. “Not a tear to be found.”

            “He’s, uh, touched. In the head.”

            General Mamid glared. Raheed hoped he wouldn’t get beaten for this later. If they survived.

            “You think I am stupid, Mulli?”

            “No.”

            “You are both soldiers. I know this.”

            “I am not.”  
            The Hahnar turned to his taller, older comrade and said something. The second Hahnar strode forward and grabbed Raheed by the hair. Raheed let out a hiss of pain, followed by a long whine. His head was still tender, especially the back of it where it had struck the rock. However, there was no fighting the Hahnar’s grip, so he crawled forward until he was on all fours at the young Hahnar’s feet.

            The older Hahnar pushed Raheed’s head down, baring his neck beneath his robes.

            “Ah. You are servant. And this is why you carry the brand of a _bhanak_.”

            As it was on the back of his neck, Raheed had forgotten about the very small brand that the Mulli empire gave to all of its purchased _bhanaks_. It hadn’t hurt enough to stick in his memory, but he’d been stupid to forget about its existence. He hadn’t expected a Hahnar to know about it anyway.

            Raheed was kicked backward into a sprawl. He scurried to sit up, but a foot pressed on his shoulder, nailing him to the ground. A sword glittered just above his throat.

            “I do not like being lied to, _bhanak_.”

            Raheed’s eyes darted from the blade to the young Hahnar. “Wouldn’t you lie if your life was on the line? I mean, I figure if I lie or if I tell the truth, I die either way, right?”

            The Hahnar frowned, then turned to General Mamid. “Who are you?”

            “A Mulli soldier.”

            The Hahnar raised his eyebrows and turned to Raheed. “It seems your _friend_ doesn’t mind telling the truth.”

            “I told you he was touched in the head!”

            “He looks plenty smart to me.”

            “A common—” Raheed paused as the sword moved closer to his throat, “—misconception.”

            “Hmm. Well, at least you are an entertaining liar. I think I shall keep you alive a bit longer, as you amuse me. My men can kill the other; I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.”

            One Hahnar grasped General Mamid’s hair while the other pulled out his sword. Raheed panicked.

            “Don’t!”

            The Hahnar rolled his eyes and told the men to continue.

            “Wait, please!” When that resulted in nothing, Raheed blurted, “He’s my _jusef!_ ”

            That gave them all pause, even the ones who did not speak Aillic.

            “What?” the young Hahnar asked.

            Raheed’s brain thunked into action, sluggish as it was. He hadn’t thought much about it before he’d said it, but he knew it could be the only thing to save General Mamid’s life. The general may not value his life, but Raheed knew the Mulli empire was lost without him.

            “He’s my _jusef_ ,” Raheed whispered.

            “How does a Mulli boy know what a _jusef_ is?” the Hahnar asked.

            Raheed swallowed. “I was taught well.”

            The Hahnar spit, then strode forward until he was hovering over Raheed. “Do you truly know what a _jusef_ is, Mulli?”

            Raheed nodded vigorously. Of course, he didn’t know the _dirty details_ , but he could make conclusions.

            The Hahnar bent down, resting his eblows on his kness. This close, Raheed could see his face better, could see that he wasn’t so marked by cruelty as the other Hahnars Raheed had killed. Or perhaps Raheed was just _hoping_ the cruelty wasn’t there.

            “Could you _prove_ it to me, Mulli?”

            Raheed could feel his skin crawl at the notion. “How would I do that?”

            The Hahnar tipped his head at the general and whispered, “Suck his cock.”

            Raheed’s mouth fell open in both shock and disgust. The Hahnar responded with a knowing smile as he stood.

            “He is not your _jusef_ , Mulli.”

            “I’m not going to do _that_ in front of anyone, _jusef_ or not!”

            “Even if you want to live?”

            Raheed struggled to answer, because of course he wanted to live but he also couldn’t think of anything he’d rather die over than the refusal to suckle the dick of his commanding officer.

            The Hahnar chuckled and shook his head.”Lie one more time to me and you’ll be sucking _my_ cock, Mulli.” He turned to his men and barked out orders. Raheed winced and prepared for death, but the men sheathed their swords and merely grabbed Raheed by back of his robes, hauling him to a stand. Raheed fought for an instant, but when one clubbed his ear, he let out a whine of pain and let himself be dragged forward. He was alive at least.

            That thought didn’t bring nearly as much comfort as it should have.

           

*

 

            They were led down the hill they had climbed, passing by the boulders that had blocked their view of the oasis that thrived below. It was more a basin than an oasis, surrounded by tall rock structures that glowed red in the sunlight. Below were trees, _real trees_ , things Raheed had not seen in two years at least, at least not the kind that grew here. Sometimes he would find a short acacia tree with a few leaves to spare, but there were actual palms growing here. True, they were far and few in between, but they were taller than him and that was novel at best. He was shocked at how homesick it made him.

            He didn’t have much time to feel homesick, however. Between the Hahnar shoving him between the shoulder blades and the sharp rocks cutting through the worn-thin soles of his shoes, Raheed could only long for a place to sit down, hopefully without a sword at this throat. To keep his mind off the pain stabbing him from head to foot, he took in his surroundings, especially the tall, red walls that protected the trees and the springs from which they drew water. They’d looked smaller from a distance, but now as they stood at their base, he could truly appreciate the centuries it must have taken to create such a fortress. He’d thought the Khamal Hahnars were just a tribe living in a few huts, not such a formidable establishment.

            “You like this, eh, Mulli?”  
            Raheed turned to face the young Hahnar, who was grinning. His white teeth stood in stark contrast to the dark shade of his skin.

            “It’s a nice place you got here. But my real question is, how are your women?”

            “Each one funnier than you,” the Hahnar said with a smile, then held up a hand to stop their march.  He barked some orders, and then suddenly Raheed’s head was grabbed from both sides. For a second he panicked, thinking this was the last few seconds before a beheading, and the burlap sack thrown over his head did not allay these fears. Because he could still see some light through the cracks in the fabric, a second blindfold was tied around his eyes, forcing his world into darkness. Then hands turned him in several circles, a clear effort to disorient him.

            “Taking precautions, eh Mulli?”

            “Raheed,” Raheed muttered. “My name is _Raheed_.”

            “What was that, Mulli? I cannot hear you past that sack on your head.”

            Raheed sighed. “Never mind.”

            The Hahnar chuckled. Raheed decided that as annoying as he was, at least he was happy. Happy Hahnars did not kill people, right?

            Their march continued, and it was even less pleasant this time. It grew hot inside of the sack, and Raheed could feel several streams of sweat dribbling down his face, running across the still-tender cut along his forehead. Only thoughts of a cool bath and some fig pastries kept him from whining in pain and exhaustion.

            Raheed finally heard the thud of what had to be a door, and then another door. He was turned left and right, pushed forward and snatched backward. Even if Raheed had wanted to memorize the route, he couldn’t have. The only relief came when he felt the sun blocked from overhead, but it did not last long. He was quickly guided back out into the sunlight, down streets and up stairs until he was finally released into what was at least a cool, dark room.

            The blindfold and the sack was removed, but there wasn’t much to see. It was a rather large, clay room with tile floors, allowing only thin rays of sunlight through the tiny windows near the ceiling. A chamber pot sat in the corner as well as an old worn grass mat, but outside of that, the room was empty.

            Raheed was shoved to a sit, and then the general after him. He was surprised to see that most of the group had abandoned them, leaving only two Hahnars, both of which deposited them and then left, locking the thick wooden door behind them.

            In the distance, Raheed could hear the bray of a donkey and the laughter of a child. It was more than he’d heard in a year. Even though Khamal was the most dangerous place for a Mulli to be, he was comforted by the sounds of civilization. How he’d missed it.

            “Are you alright, sir?” Raheed asked the general, who was slumped beside him.

            “I’ve been better.”

            “Sorry about what I said earlier, sir. I was just trying to keep us alive.”

            “Better dead out there than prisoners in here. Do you know what they’ll do to us?”

            Raheed hadn’t thought past five minutes into the future. He’d figured any state of living was better than the one state of death. “Uh, no.”

            “I’ve heard rumors. Gelding is a popular one.”

            Raheed clamped his legs together reflexively. “Er, is that the only one?”

            The general shrugged. “It’s all horrible.”

            Raheed fell silent, feeling sick again. He stared at the small square of light that illuminated the red tile floor about a stride away from him. “I’m sorry, sir.”

            The general closed his eyes, sighed, and said nothing.

            Raheed fell asleep at some point, though it wasn’t a comfortable sleep. The floor was hard and he hadn’t eaten in at least a day. His injuries felt no better, and nightmares danced just at the edge of his consciousness, teasing him with a flash of blood and a cry of death and no more.

            When he woke, the light had faded in the windows and there was a Hahnar standing in the doorway, framed by the dim orange glow of dusk. He strode forward and grabbed Raheed’s elbow, forcing him to a stand. Raheed protested for a second, until the Hahnar had the tip of his blade just under his chin. That meant “shut up” in any language.

            The Hahnar shoved Raheed forward, through the door. The door led out onto a narrow balcony, which was attached to steps descending to the alley beneath. Raheed took his time on the steps, afraid he’d fall, as there was no railing. The Hahnar had no patience and shoved him on the lower steps. Raheed lost his balance and tumbled down onto the street. Before he could spit the dirt from his mouth, the Hahnar had grabbed the back of his robes and forced him to a stand again.

            They crossed the alley and went through another door, barely giving Raheed a glimpse of the street beyond. He walked down a narrow hallway and then was pushed into a small room, this one at least featuring a latticed window looking out into what appeared to be a courtyard. A fountain gurgled, but everything else was still.

            The Hahnar was suddenly using his dagger to cut into Raheed’s robes. Raheed tried batting him away, but the Hahnar cuffed him across the ear, forcing Raheed into a defensive position. As the clothes were worn anyway, it did not take long for Raheed to be divested of them. He was rather comfortable with nudity—he was a soldier, after all—but he’d never thought a Hahnar would be seeing him naked. The Hahnar didn’t seem to care much, and after cutting off Raheed’s clothes, took Raheed’s elbow and shoved him into the hallway once more. Raheed doubted he was being taken to the baths.

            Another Hahnar greeted them in the hallway, then opened a door. It was through this door that Raheed was pushed.

            The door snapped behind him. Raheed turned from the closed door to the room in front of him. He wasn’t alone.

            “Hello, Mulli.”

            The young Hahnar sat on a large ornamental rug, several dishes resting in front of him. Something smelled of nutmeg and tumeric, probably the piece of what looked like mutton. Raheed’s mouth watered, but he tried to hide it.

            “Raheed,” Raheed said.

            “Mm?”

            “Raheed.” Raheed cleared his throat. “My name is Raheed.”

            “Your  name is Mulli. Sit.”

            Raheed looked down uncertainly. “Um, am I just gonna be naked, or . . .”

            “Sit.”

            With a sigh, Raheed sat.

            “Do you know who I am, Mulli?”

            Raheed shook his head.

            “I suppose you Mullis would call me Sultan, but we Hahnars called it the _Sumas_. My father was _Sumas_. My older brother was supposed to take the position after my father’s death, but he met an early demise. I will be _Sumas_ until my nephew is of age.”

            “How old is your nephew?”

            “Two.”

            “Oh.”

            “In case you were wondering why someone nearly as young as you sits in the head of command. I know you were wondering that, eh?”

            “Uh, sure.” Raheed paused. “Are you going to torture me?”

            The Hahnar took a slow bite of his mutton. After he chewed it thoughtfully for a moment, he shook his head. “No. I think it might put me off my meal. It is a good meal. Does it not look good?”

            Raheed’s eyes flickered to it, but they could not linger long, as his stomach growled at the thought. “Yes, it does.”

            A small smile touched the Hahnar’s lips. “Do you know my name?”

            “No.”

            “Dasaf.”

            “Can I just call you Hahnar?”

            Dasaf laughed. “Eh, you would like that. But no. You will call me _Sumas_ Dasaf. And it is up to me whether you live or die, so I would choose your words carefully, Mulli.”

            Raheed swallowed, then nodded.

            Dasaf pointed to an ewer that sat in the center of the rug. “Do you want some wine?”

            “Is it poisoned?”

            “I sure hope not.” Dasaf took a slow sip of his wine. “Or else we both die tonight.”

            Raheed leaned forward to take the ewer, keeping his eyes on Dasaf as he did so. He wasn’t sure what to think of him. Usually a sultan lived in far more luxury than Dasaf now enjoyed. This room was nothing to scoff at, but it was on par with what Raheed had grown up with, and Raheed’s living standards were nothing compared to the political officials whose houses he’d caught glimpses of.

            “Why did you bring me here?” Raheed asked as he took a sip of the wine. It was good, if not different from what he was used to.

            “To bargain for your life. You will have to convince me why I should let you live.”

            “I’ve already convinced you to let me live. At least, let me live longer than you would have before.”

            “This is true. But while I was amused by your lies before, I think now that I’ve grown tired of them.” Dasaf lifted his eyebrows. “Now you must tell me the truth. If you do not, if I detect one more lie, I will cut you down myself.” Dasaf gestured to the twin blades tucked into his belt. “I am young, but I have grown up killing Mullis. I pray you take heed of my advice.”

            Raheed nodded.

            “Who are you, Mulli soldier?”

            Raheed was taken aback by the question. “I am . . . I am _bhanak_.”

            “Is that all you are?”

            “I . . . I suppose.”

            “Sad.” Dasaf sipped from his wine again. “To be one thing is to be almost nothing.”

            “I am—was a friend.” Raheed looked down at his lap. “Beyond that . . .”

            “There was a battle on the mountain. Were you part of that?”

            Raheed gulped. “Yes.”

            “Did you run?”

            “No. I was, uh, struck. I suppose they didn’t find my body before I woke up.”

            “Yes, because as you know, Hahnars take no prisoners. At least . . .” Dasaf looked up from his cup, “ . . . the Hahnars beyond the mountain.”

            “Yes, I prefer you Hahnars.”

            Dasaf chuckled and put his cup down. “If I let you live, what will you return to?”

            “Ayllamal.”

            “The Mulli capital.”

            Raheed nodded.

            “To rejoin your ranks.”

            “What else can I do? _Bhanak_ can only serve as soldiers. We cannot marry, cannot own land.”

            “Ah yes, the gracious Mulli empire, buying men to slaughter them in war.”

            “The Mulli empire has done more for me than any—”

            “The Mulli empire is a beast that cannot be satiated. They bought you so that you would kill and be killed for them. That is all.” Dasaf picked up the mutton with his hand and bit into it. Around the lump in his mouth, he said, “You are meat to them.”

            “Mulli is my home.”

            “I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you when you return, considering your only purpose was to die.”  
            Raheed decided not to say anything. He didn’t want to get into a fight with someone who could so easily murder him.

            “If I let you return, you will come back with more men and more swords and you will keep killing us until we are extinct.”

            “I won’t come back.”

            “You won’t have a choice.”

            “I’ll join the army marching east.”

            “Ah, and kill other types of people.”

            “You Hahnars have been fighting with Mulli since its inception! As if you wouldn’t want their land if they weren’t trying to take yours!”

            “Well, I don’t know about _those_ Hahnars, but Khamal Hahnars want nothing more than their home. Unfortunately, we are caught up in your silly wars.” Dasaf sighed, wiped his mouth with his linen napkin, then leaned back on his elbows, surveying Raheed carefully. “What is that Mulli soldier to you?”

            “The—oh. Um, we’re friends.”

            “He is not your _jusef_.”

            “No. If he knew what that meant, knew that I had suggested it, he might strangle me.”

            Dasaf laughed. “Ah yes, Mulli prudishness at its finest. You must know how the Hahnars see that.”

            “I know that you take _jusefs_ in time of war so that you aren’t so quick to ravish women of foreign villages.”

            “You make it sound so _savage_. Mulli books teach you nothing. It has nothing to do with rape, simply companionship. Wars are long and arduous, and it helps to have someone keep you warm in bed at night.”

            Raheed couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the topic. While he did not consider it as dire a sin as his comrades might, the idea still disturbed him slightly. To lie with another man . . . Raheed didn’t even see how it was possible, let alone attractive.

            “Does this make you uncomfortable, Mulli?”

            “No.”

            “It does.” Dasaf smirked and sat up, taking another sip from his wine. “You are doing surprisingly well considering you are Mulli, but I see the flush in your cheeks. Is that why the Mullis call us heathens?”

            “Your _jusefs_ are not common knowledge. I just like to read about other cultures.”

            “ _Jusefs_ are rare. Most men, like you, don’t much care for it. But for others it makes horrific wars less horrific. It is expected, of course, that when men return from war, they find a wife and breed.” Dasaf began to swirl the wine in his cup. “Some find _that_ idea disdainful.”

            “Who could find a wife disdainful?” Raheed would do anything for the opportunity to marry. While marriage was often mocked by his peers, Raheed knew they all longed for what they could not have. Like Dasaf had said, it was a warm body in the cold night, a chest to lie one’s head upon.

            “A few Hahnars, at least.” Dasaf straightened, voice strengthening. “You have not provided me with any reason why I should let you live.”

            “You certainly seem to like talking to me. Perhaps that is a reason.”

            Dasaf laughed. “I like talking to everyone. I am a friendly person. That is hardly a reason to let you live.”

            “And the fact that I’m _handsome_ wouldn’t possibly—”

            “I see many handsome Mullis, and I’ve put swords through all of their throats.”       

            “Right. Uh.”

            “You are making a very convincing argument.”

            “Why must I explain? Shouldn’t _life_ be reason enough?”

            “Not if your job is to kill Hahnars.”

            “I swear I’ll never kill another Hahnar.”

            “You’ve proven yourself a liar. I don’t trust any of your promises. And it seems you’ve killed enough Hahnars already.” At this, Dasaf reached into his robes and pulled out the scorpion pin that Raheed had taken from the dead Hahnar after their first battle. It glinted dimly in the sunlight. “This is yours?”

            “I didn’t kill the person who wore it. He was already dead when I found it.”

            “This belongs to our sister tribe, the Matij.”

            “I’m sorry. They were attacking us. I didn’t—I thought it was—”

            “I don’t particularly like the Matij. We play friendly because we must.” Dasaf tossed the pin across the room. It landed just shy of Raheed’s lap. “If you live, you can keep it.”

            “Th—thank you. I suppose.” Raheed picked it up but barely glanced at it. “Okay, I know you said you don’t trust any of my promises, but this promise I swear to keep. It’s a promise that I’m not a liar.”

            “I already don’t trust that statement.”

            “No, I—” Raheed took a deep breath. “It’s true that beyond the friends that are now dead, I haven’t much waiting for me in Ayllamal. But there is someone who needs me, whose future is undetermined if I’m not set free. Someone helpless without me.”

            Dasaf raised his eyebrows in question.

            Raheed looked down at the scorpion pin, feeling along its dull edges. “His name is Asan. We was eleven when we met. He’s a beggar boy in a small village called Khafa. I used to bring him bread to eat. I gained his trust before realizing that he was . . . deaf.”

            “Deaf? What does this mean?”

            “He cannot hear. This means he’s also mute. A beggar boy, abandoned by his parents, living on the streets, beaten for stealing the food he needs to survive. All while being unable to communicate with anyone. Well, I began to meet with him and together we crafted a sort of gesture language, a language we speak with our hands.” To provide an example, Raheed began make signs with his hands. He thought he’d forget, but it came back to him rather quickly. “He wasn’t posessed or stupid or demented. He just couldn’t hear. We crafted this language, and I admit now that I began to care for him as a student. He’s very . . . sweet. Strangely innocent, despite all the horrors he’s seen. I don’t know what happened to him after I left. I had to leave without notice. I cannot imagine what his reaction to my departure must have been, his confusion.” Raheed took a deep, shaky breath and returned his gaze to Dasaf. “If you let me free, I will return to him and take him to Ayllamal, where my mentor Elder Hassad lives. I’m sure Elder Hassad will take him in, give him a home and food to eat. But only if I can take him there. No one knows about our gesture language save me and him. I fear he’ll be dead upon my return, but I know I will have to check.”

            There was a long silence while Dasaf surveyed him.

            “I’m telling you the truth,” Raheed insisted.

            “Yes, it seems so.” Dasaf sighed. “He is one boy. You have killed more than one Hahnar.”

            “Not out of spite. Hahnars killed all my friends.” Raheed paused. “The boy is not Mulli, if that helps. Nor will he ever be a soldier, as I imagine his inability to hear would hinder that career.”

            “How old is he, did you say?”

            “By now I imagine he’s nearly fourteen or so.”

            Dasaf pursed his lips in thought, clearly not yet convinced.

            “He told me he wanted to die,” Raheed said. “Before I left. To hear such words from someone so young . . . I suppose I decided then that I would change his mind, show him that a life could be full. Then I left.” Raheed had not quite managed to overcome the guilt of his departure. “I would very much love to return to him.”

            “And your friend? Why should I preserve his life?”

            Raheed thought for a minute, then, “Because I cannot find my way home without him?”

            Dasaf’s eyes had a certain clever twinkle as he tilted his head. “Ah. I see.”

            “He is older, knows the desert better than me. Why doesn’t he get to make a case for his own life?”

            “He does not strike me as the sort who enjoys exchange of words. Or wine.” Dasaf gestured toward the ewer. “Would you like more?”

            Raheed wondered if he should, but under the intense gaze of the _Sumas_ of Khamal, Raheeded decided that perhaps it was expected. So he nodded and poured himself more.

            “He is a man of action,” Raheed agreed finally. “I am a man of words.”

            “I am a man of both. But I prefer words. They are less messy to clean up aftewards.” He chuckled and took another bite from his mutton. “My men don’t want you to live.”

            “Perhaps I will have wine with all of them and change their minds?”

            “Unfortunately, we haven’t the time, though we do appreciate the generous offer.”

            There were a few long moments of silence before Raheed dare ask, “So have you come to a verdict?”

            Dasaf sighed heavily, dropping his meat back onto its plate. Slowly he rose, his robes unfolding around his body as he stood. Even in his young age, he was a daunting figure. Raheed felt both envy and fear, which perhaps was what Dasaf wanted.

            “I think, Mulli, that you should live to see another day, as long as that day is not spent on Hahnar land. I will give you a fair warning now, so that you may heed it for the rest of your days.” Dasaf’s hand fell onto the hilt of the sword tucked into his belt. “If you ever step foot again on Khamal land, I will slit your throat myself before you can so much as open your mouth to greet me.” He raised his eyebrows, and Raheed sensed no more humor in his voice. “Hahnars _always_ keep their promises. Do you understand me, Mulli?”

            Raheed nodded, gulping. “I do, _Sumas_ Dasaf.”

            Then Dasaf was smiling, though Raheed couldn’t tell if it was a smile of goodwill. “Then I shall see you off. _Mustah_!”

            A guard appeared in the door and Dasaf rattled off an order in Hahnar. When the guard returned, he carried fresh robes.

            “I will give you clothes, Mulli, despite how I think you look much better without them.”

            Raheed felt a mild heat rise in his cheeks as he quickly took the robes and slipped into them, turning his back to Dasaf because he didn’t much care for the gaze directed at him. Once he was clothed, he was allowed one last look at Dasaf before being taken from the room and led back to his cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, basically Dasaf is [this sexy mofo](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/3e/Charlemont_-_The_Moorish_Chief.jpg) (except younger, at least for now). And yes, that's a real painting from the 1800s. Pretty bad ass. That painting pretty much inspired most of this story, so everyone give a hand for Eduard Charlemont and this Moorish Chief. 
> 
> [He's fierce, guys](http://wandarox.tumblr.com/image/46190817638). For realz.


	10. The Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: There may be some dub-con in this, but it would be up to interpretation if it was dub-con or not. Also, it's allllll het, for you fish lovers out there! (sorry, I had to).

 

            Their horses were taken from them but they were allowed to keep the camel, as they’d need it to carry the water they needed to make it to the next city, which was a fortnight’s walk away. They were also allowed to keep the Mulli coins that the general had kept hidden away beneath his robes, even though it was a substantial amount. The Hahnars were more interested in Mulli blood than Mulli money.

            Raheed looked over his shoulder at the tall walls they slowly left behind. He was probably one of the few Mulli soldiers to ever leave this place alive, and he wasn’t about to forget that. He was not terribly religious, but he murmured several prayers under his breath; clearly _someone_ was looking out for him.

            “What did you tell him?” the general asked.

            “I said I would return to Khafan and rescue a beggar boy.”

            The general snorted. “Did you lie?”

            “No.”

            General Mamid looked at Raheed from the corner of his eye. While he lacked the full beard that established him as general, he still had the grizzled façade of a man who’d seen too much. “Why will you do that?”

            “Because I consider him a friend.”

            “He is not Mulli.”

            “No, he’s not.”

            The general sighed and adjusted the pack on his back, one which carried their food supplies. “You’d best not try to make friends with everyone who so much as spares you a kind eye. That’s a good way to get killed.”

            “No offense intended, sir, but I think my affable nature was what saved both of our lives today.”

            “Because you were lucky enough to find a Hahnar with good humor. They are not common, especially where Mulli soldiers are concerned.” He reached out and tapped Raheed firmly on the chest. “From now on, you keep your mouth shut until I tell you to open it. Are we clear?”

            Raheed nodded, and they both fell into silence.

 

*

 

            Their journey was already long enough, and it was made longer by the fact that the general was not much of a conversationist. Sometimes he would ask Raheed to tell him a story, but he rarely interjected and jokes were far and few inbetween. Several nights were spent missing his friends so acutely that tears gathered in Raheed’s eyes, but he fought them down. Sometimes he’d whisper a prayer, hoping that there was some sort of prosperous afterlife that greeted them, but it was hard to remember their joy when all that stuck in his mind was Jhali’s head being taken from his shoulders. Jhali had been his brother in every way except blood. The loss weighed heavily on Raheed’s mind and on his heart, haunting his dreams and providing poor company when he was awake. 

            One night, General Mamid asked Raheed for the Hahnar pin Dasaf had let him keep. He held it between two fingers and let the firelight flicker off the surface.

            “Is the scorpion a universal symbol for the Hahnars?” Raheed asked.

            “Yes, though each tribe has a different insignia. Not sure if you noticed the _Sumas’s_ pin.”

            Raheed shook his head, embarrassed that he hadn’t taken note, even though he’d been in Dasaf’s presence much longer than General Mamid had.

            “The Khamal scorpion is circled by two stalks of wheat. The Matij scorpion has its legs spread and its tail curled. The Hahnars beyond the mountains have three scorpions entwined.” He tossed the pin back to Raheed, who caught it and observed it.

            “Where did you learn this?” Raheed asked.

            “I’ve fought enough Hahnars to know.”

            “Oh.” Raheed brushed a few grains of sand off the Matij scorpion’s face.

            “You saved my life when they were about to kill me. You mentioned a _jusef_.”

            Raheed lifted his eyes slowly, embarrassed. “Yes.”

            “So clearly you know something about Hahnars that I do not.”

            Raheed put the pin into the bag at his waist, avoiding the general’s iron gaze. “I studied many cultures before I was officially a soldier.”

            “You are studious then.”

            “Well, in a way.” When Raheed wasn’t studious, he was playing pranks on his superiors with Jhali. He wouldn’t mention that. “I had a very good mentor.”

            “Who?”

            “Elder Hassad.”

            “Really?” The general leaned back, his expression more placid than usual. “He was my mentor as well.”

            Raheed’s eyes widened in surprise. “He never told me that!”

            “Elder Hassad is not a man to divulge much about the past. I suppose I learned from him in that regard. But yes, he was my mentor and my teacher. I respect him greatly, as he is a soft man with a very hard shell. I thought very highly of him when I was young, so much that I wanted to call him _Father_. I never did, of course. It wouldn’t have been appropriate, a _bhanak_ referring to a Mulli-by-blood in such a manner.”

            Raheed had often felt similarly, but only when he was too young to understand that _bhanak_ , despite all their training and education, were never to refer to a Mulli-by-blood so casually. Beyond that, Elder Hassad was a cleric, making him twice as esteemed and Raheed twice as incapable of being so familiar. Despite all of the status differences that lied between them, Raheed always felt as if Elder Hassad favored him.

            “Before I rode for Hahnar, I dined with Elder Hassad, as I sometimes do when I want to catch up.” General Mamid took a sip from his canteen, eyebrows lowered over his eyes. “He is much older now, but the fire still burns bright.”

            Raheed nodded. “Last time I saw him, I was fifteen, right before my initiation.” He rubbed his boot in the dirt. Raheed almost admitted that he missed his mentor, but he knew that the general would not appreciate the sentiment. Or perhaps he would, but Raheed was so used to the general’s steely temperament that any sentimentality seemed unwanted.

            “So it was Elder Hassad who taught you about _jusef_?”

            Raheed had hoped they’d moved beyond the subject. He fidgeted where he sat. “Well, no. I read about that on my own. I think Elder Hassad would be angry if he knew that I knew.”

            “Why?”

            “It’s . . . not exactly a topic appropriate for young men.”  
            “What is a _jusef_?”

            Raheed scratched the back of his neck. “It is a type of . . . close friend.”

            The general watched Raheed for a long moment before sighing. “Raheed, I was the child of a whore. I fight for Mulli and its God, but I blink at nothing. What is a _jusef_?”

            Raheed hadn’t expected an admission so frank, but he cleared his throat and answered, “A male bride.”

            “And this is customary to Hahnars?”

            “When they go to war, it’s seen as a way of satiating lust, I believe. I read that it also quelled urges to rape foreign women, but _Sumas_ Dasaf told me differently.”

            “You can never trust a Hahnar’s word.” The general sighed and ran his hands through his sweat-dampened hair. “So you told them I was your _jusef_ to save my life?”

            Raheed flushed, glad to have the darkness hiding it. “I did what I had to.”

            To Raheed’s surprise, the general chuckled and stood. “I surely hope you could find a prettier bride than I, Raheed. I’m going to sleep if you will keep watch for the next six hours.”

            Raheed nodded dumbly. “Yes, sir.”

           

*

 

            When they finally reached civilization again, they were in Mulli territory. Raheed had expected a tiny town like Khafa, but while it did not rival the size of the Khamal oasis, it was large enough to get lost in. Raheed couldn’t contain his excitement upon seeing people milling about, people who were not armed or planning on murdering him. And there were women! He hadn’t seen women in a year and a half, even the old and stooped ones. It was all he could do to keep himself from hugging a stranger, as he was sure she wouldn’t appreciate it.

            “Tomorrow we’ll stock up on supplies,” the general told him as the navigated several dusty streets, dodging herds of goats and groups of young clerics squabbling about theology.

            “What about tonight?” Raheed skirted around two boys that nearly ran straight into him in their efforts to wrangle a runaway kitten. “There are plenty of people—”

            “Tonight is a night for relaxation.” The general suddenly stopped at a three-story building with a sign over the door, written in a language Raheed didn’t recognize. The general pulled back the door and stepped inside, giving Raheed no choice but to follow.

            Inside was a large room filled with the aroma of smoke and sweat, as well as the bodies of male travelers. Many of them held loud conversations over what looked like lentils, wine, and hookah. In the back there was an empty stage, and beyond that a counter where a young boy prepared more drinks to be served. The ceiling was high, as there was a second-floor balcony that looked out across the dining room. Raheed noticed dark shapes moving above, draped in red and green—women.

            “Sir—”           

            The general was already moving forward, snagging an empty spot on the floor where someone had left their dirty dishes. His hardened authoritative presence seemed to draw a servant at once, who cleared the used glasses and refilled the ewer of wine. The general put a hand on the boy’s arm and drew him close to whisper something in his ear. The boy nodded and took off for the door at the back.

            Raheed sat at the general’s side, looking around him nervously. He’d been in a tavern once or twice, but mostly out of curiosity. He felt more safe with the general at his side, but most of the men probably did not take kindly to Mulli soldiers. Luckily Raheed and General Mamid were missing their characteristic Mulli beards and uniforms, making it easier to blend in.

            The boy returned with soup and bread. It had been so long since Raheed had gotten something hot to eat that it took him half as long to consume it as usual. The general seemed less enthusiastic, but perhaps he was used to going long periods of time without decent food. Raheed paid him no mind and finished everything within his reach.

            “Are you going to smoke?” the general asked.

            Raheed hesitated. “I have never smoked before.”

            “You should.” General Mamid gestured toward the hookah. “It is a thing men do, and you are a man now, correct?”

            Raheed nodded, and the general asked for some coal and tobacco to be brought over. When Raheed put the hose to his lips and inhaled, he immediately started coughing, which brought a smile to General Mamid’s lips.

            “You’ll get it soon enough,” the general said before putting the other hose to his own lips. When he exhaled, a smooth stream of smoke poured from his nostrils. Raheed felt a sudden urge to impress his superior, prove to him that Raheed was more than a silly private whose cowardice ruled him. He tried the hookah again and coughed less this time.

            “I’m surprised you’ve never smoked before,” the general said. “Isn’t visiting brothels something soldiers learn young?”

            Raheed paused in bringing the hose to his lips. “This is a brothel, sir?”

            The general jerked his head toward the balcony, where a few women stood watching them behind their shimmering veils. “What else do you think it is, soldier?”

            Raheed’s eyes lingered on the women for a moment before lowering back to the general. “I—I thought it was just a tavern.”

            The general snorted but made no comment. When he exhaled another curlique of smoke, he continued. “It’s what soldiering is about. Women and wine fill the gaps between all the killing.”

            “My friend, Jhali, went to brothels. He tried to get me to go, but . . .” Raheed trailed off. He wanted to say that the urge never truly struck him, but then again, what sort of young man said such a thing. So he improvised. “There were no good brothels in Khafa.”

            “I don’t imagine those tiny villages have much to offer. When we get back to Ayllamal, you will have to visit the southern docks. A man could die before he visited all the brothels there.”

            Raheed had heard of the southern docks, but only that he was not allowed to visit there. Of course all the boys had known, but only a few dared snoop. Jhali had snuck out when they were thirteen, but returned disappointed, as someone had stolen the coins he’d taken with him. He did see many women though, he said. He told everyone they were the most beautiful creatures he’d ever seen, but Raheed found it difficult to believe.

            “Do you frequent that place often?”

            The general barked a laugh. “Any time I can, soldier. It’s the only place where I feel home. I recall visiting my first brothel down on the southern docks, my first whore. She wasn’t terribly beautiful, but I still can remember that mouth of hers.”

            Raheed fumbled with the hose, then quickly inhaled. The general watched him with a stern look.

            “You been with a whore yet, boy?”

            Raheed felt stupid when he replied, “No, sir.”

            “You went off to war without visiting a whore?” The general clucked. “I thought you were foolish before! You were ready to die before ever fucking a woman?”

            “I—well, I guess—yes, I suppose.”

             “Stupid boy.” The general reached over and gently slapped the back of Raheed’s head. “You don’t get many pleasures of life better than that.”

            “I thought that perhaps I should wait for the proper time.”

            The general laughed. “Elder Hassad have you reading too many of those romantic poems, eh? Something about the caliph’s beautiful daughter in some fucking tower, waiting for her knight to come rescue her, huh? It’s all bullshit.” The general grabbed his cup of wine and took a swig. “There isn’t any woman who’s going to touch you without you paying her for it, so best get used to it now. Women are only free when you marry them, and none of that is in your future.”

            “I know that,” Raheed replied defensively. “I just—”

            “You just nothing.” The general wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “We’re bought killers, Raheed. That’s all we are to them. The only things to treasure in life is this—” The general held up his glass of wine, “—and getting your dick wet in some whore who doesn’t hate you by default.” He took another swig, then twisted and gestured at the servant boy. When the servant boy rushed forward, General Mamid whispered something else into his ear. The boy nodded and left.

             Raheed stared at the last few lentils in his bowl, swamped once more with the weight of his friends’ death and what the general had told him. When he’d been in training, there was nothing but praise for the army. There was no talk of death or brothels, only honor and the rare education benevolently granted to non-Mullis who fought.

            The servant boy returned. The general took Raheed’s arm.

            “Go with him,” he insisted. “Follow him.”

            “But—why?”

            “Go,” the general ordered again, so Raheed had no choice but to stand and follow the boy through the crowd. It was difficult to navigate, as the light was dim and the conversations around him were nearly deafening.

            Raheed began to suspect what was going on when the boy climbed the stairs to the second level. Raheed wanted to stop and turn around, but where would he go? Back to the general and his own disgrace? Everyone had told him—Jhali, General Mamid—that things like this made him a true man. Respect was what Raheed craved beyond most things, so he followed the boy blindly.

            They reached the second level. Two women draped in red turned to face him, their hands clutching their veils over their nose and lips. The fabric they wore was sheer, though in the dark, Raheed could not see much. He saw the glitter of gold, or perhaps its imitation. They said nothing, only watched him as he passed.

            Raheed had been surrounded by men and boys for nearly his whole life, so being watched by these strange women made him very uncomfortable. Luckily, he didn’t stay still long, as the boy kept walking down the aisle, occasionally glancing back to make sure Raheed was still following. Finally, the boy stopped halfway around the balcony, gesturing toward a group of girls in red and green robes, also covering their faces with sheer veils. Their eyes were surrounded by thick dark lines of kohl, saying nothing, all watching him with such synchronized movements they could have been Raheed seeing triple.

            The boy said something to the girl on the left. She strode forward and held out a hand. When Raheed only stared at it, she shook it and snapped. Raheed fumbled to produce the small pouch of money that the general had given him. She held up four fingers, so that was what Raheed gave her. She quickly took the money and shoved it into something beneath the veils that covered her, then took his arm and yanked him down the hall.

            “Do you speak any Aillic?” he asked, but she said nothing, so he assumed she didn’t. He nearly ran into her when she stopped outside of a door, then swung it open.

            Raheed looked inside. It was a tiny room, barely more than a closet. There was a single candle burning on the floor in the corner, and a few torn, ratty blankets tossed across from it. Raheed had expected rugs and curtains, perhaps some incense and more than one candle. Perhaps that was his romantic notion of what a brothel entailed, nothing more.

            He hadn’t any time to think about it, because the girl gestured him inside. He went.

            She closed the door behind him and pressed hands against his back. He stumbled forward, then turned to face her. She pointed to the collection of limp pillows in the corner. Luckily Raheed was used to hand gestures at this point, so he sat.

            The girl pulled off her veil, revealing dark hair and a small, curved nose. Her lips were thin but painted a dark red, making them appear more full. There were what looked like pockmarks along her jaw, as well as a dark discoloration around her bared neck. Raheed couldn’t be sure if it was a birthmark or a scar. He wanted more time to stare at her a little, as he found her rather pretty, and it was the first time he was gazing at a girl in private. But she did not pause, moving to take off the rest of her clothing as well.

            Raheed made an attempt at telling her to stop, or at least to slow down, but his voice caught in his throat as he watched in both horror and appreciation. Horror because this was not as he imagined it, it was too fast, too impersonal—

            Within moments she was naked, and Raheed gaped at her, mouth slightly open. She looked so much softer than he imagined, her breasts small and slightly pointed but beautiful nontheless. He wanted to tell her something, something she might appreciate. Many men had to call her beautiful, but maybe he could ask her a question, show her that he was not like all the rest, that he appreciated both her looks and her future actions.

            Even if he had spoken her language, and even if he hadn’t been struck speechless, it wouldn’t have mattered. She collapsed on him almost like a dead camel, her hands lifting his robes with the precision of a doctor. Raheed tried to take her hands, tried to slow her down, but she shoved him down and smacked his hands away, throwing him a small glare. So he gulped and just watched her, assuming she knew what she was doing. Maybe this was how it was, and he was just naïve.

            When Dasaf had paraded him around naked, Raheed had not felt half the humiliation that he did when this girl—probably Raheed’s age or less—pulled his length from his trousers. Just moments ago he hadn’t so much as spoken to a woman in private and now she was handling him with intimacy he had allowed no one expect perhaps his mother when he was a baby. He hadn’t even the time to adjust to it; she sat herself upon him with nothing more than a slight wince and a grunt.

            Raheed closed his eyes and tried to focus on the pleasure, as it was substantial. It was hard to believe that he was _inside_ of a woman or that it could feel so good. It exceeded his expectations but at the same time dashed them. He wanted to touch her, to slow her down a bit and perhaps reach a rhythm that fit them both, as it was clear in her face and posture that she was not nearly enjoying herself in the way Raheed was. He feared she might slap his hands away, but he also feared that she would not, that she’d tolerate his touch with the same grimace with which she rode his cock. So he just watched her, trying to focus on the way her breasts jumped and the way her neck bent.

            It soon became too much, and Raheed was swallowed within the waves of orgasm. He couldn’t help himself; he reached out to hold onto her thighs, perhaps to prolong the deliriously wonderful connection that he was hesitant to let go of. But his bliss lasted only a moment. Suddenly a breeze hit him, and he opened his eyes to find her kneeling, then standing, reaching for the clothing that she had removed.

            “Wait,” Raheed said, despite knowing she wouldn’t understand. “Can I have just a moment to—”

            She said something to him, gesturing as if lifting trousers. He did so, though another protest gathered in his throat. He hadn’t the time to formulate one before her hand was around his arm, yanking him to a stand.

            Seconds later, he was shoved into the hall and another man, this one much older, was thrust into the room after him. By the time he’d turned around, the door was shut.

            Raheed stood there in shock for several seconds before turning to the girls in the hall. They were different girls this time though, staring at him once more with those black eyes. There was nothing in them—no fear, no pity, no feeling whatsoever.

            “Is there a room?” Raheed asked, voice weak. “Is there a room where I can stay the night alone?”

            The girls said nothing, only stared at him. They probably did not speak Aillic either.

            Raheed gave up and went back downstairs. He didn’t stop until he was outside, gulping in the brisk night air. The crowds were more sparse by now, making it easier to find his way to the camel they had tied nearby. It was lying down, chewing its cud and unfazed by the commotion around it.

            For a second Raheed considered just leaving, because that’s what he wanted to do. He wanted the isolation of the desert back, as if they hadn’t just left it behind. Room be damned; he’d prefer to sleep out here under the sky. Oddly, it felt safer, familiar. It would be chilly, but with the camel at his back, he would manage.

            With a sigh, Raheed leaned back and gazed at the sky. He and Asan had never come up with a sign for “star.” How to describe it in a simple motion?

            Raheed pondered this and made attempts to catch it in a gesture before growing drowsy and finally falling asleep.

 

*

 

            Something nudged Raheed’s side, which jerked him from slumber as abruptly as if someone had slapped him. Before his thoughts could even form, his hand snaked out and latched onto the arm extended toward him. His other hand yanked out his sword and held its tip to the offender’s throat.

            A skinny boy with greasy hair and parched lips gaped at him, mouth parted in both fear and shock. Raheed glanced down at what the boy had been reaching for—the small pouch of money tucked under his belt.

            “Thief,” Raheed muttered, his grip growing tighter. The boy struggled and whined until Raheed struck him lightly on the back of his head. It might have barely stung a larger boy, but this one clearly had been without food for quite some time, so it sent him crashing into the dirt. When Raheed bolted to a stand, the boy threw his arms over his head and curled his knees into his stomach, waiting for the blow.

            Raheed just stared down at him. He was tempted to give the boy another _thwack_ , but then he realized how much the boy reminded him of Asan, and he couldn’t bring himself to do so. So he just reached down and grabbed the boy’s collar, hauling him to a stand.

            “Go,” he ordered gruffly, shoving the boy forward. Once he was free, the boy took off into the morning crowd, glancing only once over his shoulder.

            “He’s just going to steal again,” said a voice behind him.

            Raheed turned. General Mamid was standing there, fully dressed and bathed. Raheed bowed his head and took a step back anyway.

            “I know, sir,” Raheed replied softly.

            “You know what Mulli law tells you to do with thieves.”

            “Yes.” The boy should feel lucky to be in ownership of both his hands. “He’s just a boy. He looked starved.”

            “Well, lately I’ve been yearning for the touch of a woman but it doesn’t mean I rape one.” General Mamid strode past him and began to untie the camel’s rope from its stake in the ground. “A boy has got to learn the difference between wrong and right.”

            “No disrespect sir, but I’m not going to chop off a little boy’s hand.”

            General Mamid looked over his shoulder at Raheed, expression blank. Finally he sighed and shook his head. “God gave us two hands for a reason, Raheed. Here.” He tossed the rope at Raheed, who caught it clumsily. “Why don’t you fill up the water barrells while I go buy us some more food. Meet me back here in twenty minutes.”

            “Yes, sir.” Raheed watched the general walk away, wondering why he hadn’t commented on Raheed’s odd sleeping arrangements. Perhaps he already knew. Raheed still didn’t know how to feel about last night, nor whether he should blame the general or not for putting him in such an uncomfortable situation. There were some parts he’d enjoyed, but most of it had been . . . disturbing. He had hoped his first encounter with a woman would have been a bit more intimate, but maybe he was like the general said—naïve.

            Raheed took the camel to get water from the well. He paid a few copper coins to the slave that drew the water, then stood nearby and chewed on a piece of yellow grass as  the slave worked. He was really lamenting that he hadn’t at least gotten a bath; he felt as if he’d been drawn from between the cracks of someone’s toes.

            When he returned with water, the general was waiting for him. After taking a few sips of water and eating a few pieces of pita bread topped with sumac and thyme, they continued their journey northward.

 

*

 

            It was another two weeks before they reached the next settlement, this one considerably smaller than the last, as it was nestled at the foot of rather unforgiving mountains. The general said they would be staying several days, to recover fully before tackling the mountain range that stood between recently conquered territory and the Mulli empire. And beyond that mountain range was a desert that would take a few months to cross, so Raheed was not looking forward to it. To avoid conflict, they’d taken the long way around, putting Ayllamal further away than the distance kingdoms in the poems Raheed read as a young boy. Raheed had begun to forget what its streets looked like, how the bells and calls to prayer would sink down from its sparkling minarets. He would have to visit the temple of Ghali, even if he often felt out of place there. To witness its vast mosaics, its colorful horseshoe arches, its stained-glass windows that scattered a rainbow of light across the marble floors . . . that would be the sweetest treat of all. It would be the break his eyes needed from the monotony of the desert.

            This new village had been built onto the side of the mountain, so often the streets would waver between steep inclines and steps. It was very hard to navigate a camel through such narrow pathways, but it was a small camel and clearly the donkeys scattered throughout had managed, so they did what they had to, even if the camel did not care for it. This village was much quieter; Raheed only saw one woman sweeping her doorstep before she vanished inside her hovel. Despite its small population, Raheed found the architecture far superior to anything he’d seen in Khafa. Clearly it was a very old establishment, a place awarded enough time to grow very long, durable roots.

            The general seemed to know where he was going, which perplexed Raheed.

            “Have you been here before?” Raheed asked.

            “Once,” the general replied. “A quaint village, not easy to forget.”

            The general led him to a building squeezed between two dark hovels, something Raheed might have passed up if he hadn’t been looking for it. Someone had carved a name above the doorway, but it was so worn that Raheed could not even decipher what language it was.

            “There is a courtyard down the street a bit, including a spot where you can pay a slave boy to watch the camel. I will meet you back here.”

            Raheed nodded and did as he was bid. When he returned, he stepped into the ancient tavern and removed his turban and veil. The air felt good along his scalp.

            The general was already seated at a short table in the corner, his face barely lit by a low-burning lamp. Raheed was shocked to find that the server was a woman. He supposed this could be another brothel, knowing the general. Raheed’s gut twisted at the thought. He wasn’t sure he could handle another night like the last one he (briefly) spent with a whore.

            Raheed slid to a sit on the other side of the table, getting his first look at the woman. She was older than the whores Raheed had met at the last establishment, perhaps old enough to have grown children. Yet Raheed still found her comely, as time had not left many marks on her skin.

            “Welcome to Mugav,” the woman said with a slight, pleasant smile. She held an ewer in one hand, a basket of flatbread in the other. “I am Yuva.”

            “You speak Aillic?” Raheed asked, surprised. She had a slight accent, but beyond that her Aillic was commendable.

            She nodded. “I spent some years in a town near Ayllamal.”

            “We’d like anything substantial your cook can offer us,” the general said firmly. “I’m sure the menu is brief.”

            Yuva nodded as she deposited the ewer and the basket of bread on the table. “I’ll see what I can do.”

            After she walked away, Raheed helped himself to the flatbread, dipping it in his wine as Elder Hassad had always done. After some silence, he turned to the general.

            “Is this another brothel?” he asked.

            “Not officially,” the general said around a mouthful of bread. “But unofficially, yes it is.”

            “Oh.”

            The general’s eyes narrowed. “Why so glum, boy?”

            “It’s just . . . the last place . . . I just found it very abrupt.”

            The general shrugged. “Those girls get paid by the customer. They are efficient.”

            “But it doesn’t seem to be worth it.”

            “Perhaps your girl was a bit different than mine.”

            Raheed shifted, staring into the dark depths of his glass. “Perhaps.”

            The general seemed more amused than anything else. “Not like you expected, eh?”

            “I just thought it might _mean_ more.”

            “Doesn’t mean anything.” The general took another bite from his bread. “It _shouldn’t_ mean anything. Once it means something, you’re in trouble. A soldier can’t stay in one place too long. Like anything, there are good ones and bad ones. You take what you get.”

            Raheed just nodded, still feeling uneasy about the entire encounter.

            “I’ll tell you what.” The general threw back some wine. “I need to get good and fucked before I return and get blamed for the demolition of an entire army.”

            Raheed frowned. “There was no way to predict—”

            “Oh, there was. The Hahnars aren’t fools. They know their mountains, just like we know ours. It’s those damn things that keep us back. Because if it were our armies up against their walls, they wouldn’t stand a chance. We all know how to climb ladders and knock a door down, but navigating enemy territory . . .” The general shook his head. “I was hoping we could outrun them, get over the mountain before they realized we were coming or at least before they could mobilize troops.”

            “I believe you did the best you could with what you had, sir.”

            The general pointed a finger at Raheed with the hand that held his cup. “Don’t try to flatter me with empty words, Raheed.”

            “There are many tales of your success in battle. One failure can’t erase them.”

            “It damn well can.” General Mamid sighed and leaned against the wall behind him. “Do you know what it’s like, Raheed, to know that thousands of men are dead because of _you_?”

            “The Hahnars killed our men, not you.”

            “I led them to their execution.” The general’s voice was flat, emotionless. “I suppose I do that all the time, as I’ve never fought a battle in which not a single man lost his life. But this was particularly catastrophic.”

            “It is war, sir. We all know the likelihood of death.”

            “Doesn’t make it any less horrific though, does it?” General Mamid’s eyes were dark and intense as they held Raheed’s gaze. “Did you have any friends who died?”

            Raheed swallowed, then slowly nodded. The general shook his head.

            “Best learn it now, Raheed. A man who lives by the sword must be his own company.”

            They ate in relative silence. Raheed’s thoughts reared in the back of his mind, ugly and cold, so he fought to tamp them down. So his eyes flickered to Yuva, who moved between the kitchens and the other three men eating across the room. She was not dressed in the shimmering red veils of the whores from before, but her movement suggested some sensuality. Raheed began to imagine what her hair might look like underneath all the cloth that hid it.

            “Are there others?” Raheed asked softly. “Or is she the only one?”

            “Oh, they always keep a few in the back. That way they can operate as an innocent tavern until a man with a few coins comes asking.” The general leaned across the table and dumped a few coins in front of Raheed. “That’s for tonight.”

            Raheed picked one up and moved it between two fingers so that it caught the light. “After the last time, I’m not sure—”

            “I told you. There are good ones and there are bad ones. You hold out for good ones.” Then he turned and held up a hand to capture Yuva’s attention. When she arrived, he said, “I want to speak to the boss.”

            Yuva nodded and strode away. Moments later, a burly bearded man approached their table. He motioned for them to stand, so they followed him toward the back of the room. Beyond a narrow archway, Raheed saw a scrawny man and two girls, both swathed in pale veils. The one turned away, but the other was snatched by the scrawny man and pulled forward for what Raheed assumed to be General Mamid’s inspection.

            “Not for me,” General Mamid muttered. He jerked his head at Raheed. “Him.”

            Raheed stared at the girl, his throat dry. She was certainly pretty, prettier than the last one, if not younger. But her eyes were wide, her lips drawn tightly together in fear. She shared a similar expression to the boy to whose throat Raheed had held a sword. Her terror seemed to leak into him until that was all he could see. He couldn’t help but think of that night two weeks prior, how that woman had hauled him into the tiny room and sat on him, as if he were a rather cheap piece of furniture. This girl would be different, he was sure. And not in a good way. He could imagine her hiding in a corner, sobbing perhaps. Nothing repulsed him more.

            “One hour,” the bearded man said, taking the girl’s arm in a meaty grip. His Aillic was stilted. “Cost ten _immas_.”

            “Ten?” General Mamid said in disapproval. “Five.”

            The bearded man frowned. “Eight.”

            “Seven.”

            While the general and the owner argued, Raheed found it difficult to catch the girl’s eyes. Her gaze darted from the ceiling to the floor, then to her hands. Raheed wondered how old she was and how she’d ended up here.

            Unable to look at the girl any longer, he glanced over his shoulder. Yuva was smiling at a customer, though this expression flickered as her eyes rose up and caught his. He quickly turned away.

            “Sir,” Raheed muttered.

            “What is it?”  
            “I don’t think—I don’t think I can.”

            “What?”

            Raheed glanced at the girl, wondering if she understood. He doubted it. “Isn’t there anyone else?”

            “What’s wrong with her?”

            “Nothing, she’s very nice. I just—I just don’t think it would be the best fit.”

            “You’ve got one choice, boy. You take it or leave it.”

            Raheed wanted to leave it, of course, but he knew that General Mamid might not be pleased with that. He seemed to be a very firm believer in the healing properties of a whore, and Raheed suspected that all the respect he had gained so far from his superior would vanish if he spent the night alone.

            “Are you sure,” Raheed asked, “that she’s the only one?”

            The general turned to the owner. “Is she the only girl?”

            The owner shrugged one shoulder, gesturing vaguely behind him. The only person he could possibly be referring to was Yuva.

            “Well, there it is,” General Mamid said. “You bed this pretty girl or that old whore.”

            Raheed couldn’t have spent less time contemplating it. “Yuva.”

            Neither the owner or the general seemed able to digest this. Clearly Yuva was not a popular choice.

            “Raheed . . .” The general frowned. “She’s closer to my age than yours.”

            “So? I think she’s very pretty.”

            The general’s eyes wandered between Raheed and Yuva, who was now staring at them. She was too far away to hear the conversation, but she could probably decipher that it was about her.

            “Old whores take advantage of a man.”

            “Perhaps that’s a lesson I need to learn on my own, sir.”

            The general sighed, as if pained, then turned to the boss. “Alright then. How much for the old—for Yuva?”

            The boss held up three fingers. _Three immas_? Raheed recalled buying _pomegranates_ in the market for that price.

            “Good. Fine. Raheed, take your . . . prize upstairs.” He turned back to the owner. “I’ll take the other girl.”

            The owner seemed pleased by this and nodded. Raheed handed the owner three _immas_ and then found the rickety stairs that would take him to the second floor. There were several rooms with open doors, but there was no clue as to which one he should take, so he chose the one at the very end of the hall. It was small but more in line with what a bedroom should look like, unlike the glorified closet from his last encounter. Even better, there was a tub for bathing in the corner. It was empty though, so Raheed wondered who’d he have to ask or pay in order to get a quick scrub. He felt sorry for any woman who had to tolerate his presence at the moment, considering it had been ages since his last bath. He wasn’t sure about other nations or villages, but Mullis liked to keep very clean.

            “What is your name?”

            Raheed jumped and spun around. Yuva was standing in the doorway, looking both bemused and curious.

            “Ra—Raheed.” Raheed couldn’t help but blush and look at his feet. This was his second time with a woman, but his first to truly speak with one. He was a seasoned soldier; he should not be acting so meek. “I’m sorry about this.”

            “Why?”

            He shrugged. “It seems rather forward to pay for you—I mean, your services without your consent.”

            She raised her eyebrows, which were both thick and shapely, something that made her highly expressive. They seemed to highlight her eyes as well, which were round and black as the veil she wore over her hair. Raheed was baffled that she cost three _immas_. A woman so pretty would have been worth ten times that in Ayllamal. At least, he assumed so. He had neve propositioned any prostitutes until now.

            “If my consent were even important—which it’s not—there’s really no need to apologize. I can barely pay for my board, so any customer I can get is appreciated.” A smile touched her lips. “Especially such a handsome one.”

            Raheed felt himself flush again. “It was cruel of them to call you old.”

            “There’s nothing wrong with being old. Well, unless you’re a woman. Especially if you’re a whore.” She moved further into the room and closed the door behind her. “I’m perhaps old enough to be your mother, at least. A young mother, but a mother still.” She tilted her head. “Why is it that you rejected Ama?”

            “She looked very scared.”

            “Yes, she’s new. Not completely new—not at ten _immas_ —but new enough to fear the men who pay for her. She probably wouldn’t have minded you. A kind, young, handsome man.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “You are funny.” Yuva stepped forward and lifted a hand to place against Raheed’s cheek. “A Mulli soldier, I assume?”

            Raheed nodded.

            “Not surprising.” With a sigh, Yuva reached up and unclipped her veil, slowly pulling it from around her neck and head. Lush, black hair tumbled down her shoulders and back, putting Raheed into a slight trance. It took him a moment to realize that she had reached out and begun pulling at the the few laces keeping his cloak upon his shoulders.

            “Wait.”

            Yuva stopped and lifted eyes to him, questioning.

            “Are you going to kick me out after this?” Raheed asked.

            “You paid for a room, I believe.”

            “ I mean. . . .” Raheed bit his lip. “The last girl . . . well, it seemed unpleasant for her and was definitely unpleasant for me and I just want—I suppose I want more of a . . . connection? I think that’s the word I’m looking for.”

            “With a whore?”

            “It doesn’t have to be much. But just something to let me know that you don’t hate me.”

            Yuva chuckled as she finished untying his cloak. It dropped to the floor with a heavy thump. Then she reached up to run a hand through his damp curls. “I certainly don’t hate you.”

            “Okay.” Raheed swallowed. “Okay, that’s a start.”

            “What’s this?” Her long fingers ran along the edge of the Hahnar pin he had clasped to his collar. He was shocked she didn’t know it was a Hahnar scorpion, but perhaps it was only soldiers who knew the details of warring nations. Perhaps she didn’t even know what a Hahnar was. He almost envied her.

            “Just a pin.” He sighed. “Would it be too much trouble to have a bath before . . . before anything else? I feel like the exit end of a camel right now.”

            She chuckled and nodded. “I’ll draw it for you.”

            “Shouldn’t a servant do . . . that . . .?” Raheed trailed off as she lifted her eyebrows. “What?”

            “What do you think I am, some fancy courtesan? I’m an all-purpose woman.” At that, she grabbed two buckets at the base of the tub. “I’ll be right back.”

            “Hey, wait, I can help—”

            “You stay here. If someone saw me putting a customer to work, they’d have me stoned.” She reached out and tugged at the collar of his tunic. “Sit down and relax.”

            Raheed tried to do this, but his eyes kept darting to the door, waiting for her return. Perhaps he could just pay her the coins and then send her away. That would be the best thing to do, the _proper_ thing to do. He’d lie to the general, if the general even asked. He didn’t want a repeat of his last brothel visit; the idea made his skin itch. He recalled some of the jokes his fellow soldiers had thrown around, jokes of taking Hahnar women. Raheed had always disapproved, but now the very idea made him squirm with disgust. No. He’d kill all the Hahnars in the world if he had to, but he’d never touch their women.

            Yuva finally returned, this time with a boy in tow, carrying two more buckets. Together, they were able to fill the tub a fourth of the way full. The boy was quickly sent away before Yuva shut the door and faced Raheed once more. She held up a basket; in it, Raheed spotted soap and a soft-bristle brush.

            “I can bathe myself, you know,” Raheed said as he took the basket. He’d expected her to slip out, but she just watched him curiously.

            “I’m sure you can.” She smiled. “But why should you have to?”

            Raheed sighed. “Look. Why don’t I simply pay you for this service? I know that you are a—I know what you do for men, but I don’t require that. I’ll give you the coins either way.”

            “I told you I don’t mind. You seemed receptive before.”

            “I’ve had some time to think about it.”

            “Raheed.” She shook her head with a small smile and walked toward him, stopping so close that her chest nearly touched his. “If you wish to send me away because you sincerely don’t want me or my company, then I will go. But I won’t leave because you have some displaced sense of honor.” Reaching up, she slipped her long fingers through Raheed’s greasy curls, humming in approval. “I do like you, and I’m not saying that because you’re paying me.”

            Raheed wanted to send her away but he also wanted her to stay. She _was_ beautiful, and he yearned for her against his will. He supposed he was like all the rest of the men he’d ever met, in that he could not say no to a woman with welcoming eyes. Lust pooled in his loins, and his mind began to fight with the desires of the flesh.

            “I should take a bath,” Raheed said softly, avoiding her eyes.

            “Yes. You probably should.” She reached down and tugged at the bow that connected the collar of his sheer tunic. He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation of her fingers brushing his skin. His throat seemed to thicken, and he felt himself lean into the contact, like a dog desperate for affection. At least with his eyes closed, he wouldn’t have to look at her, because he feared that looking at her might unleash something he wasn’t prepared to handle.

            “Oh,” she whispered after she pulled his shirt from over his head. The sound drew his eyes open, wondering what was wrong. He found her staring at his chest, her fingers slowly navigating the muscles and the ridges of bone. He’d been more substantial when he left Khafa, but hunger and exhaustion had made him much thinner, so much that a hint of ribs could be seen rising around his sternum. Her eyes lifted to his.

            “I’m sorry,” Raheed said stupidly. He was about to apologize for apologizing, but then her mouth touched his chest and an involuntary moan slipped through his lips. It was very brief contact, but he’d not experienced anything so exquisite.

            Still reeling from the few kisses she dotted upon his chest, he barely even noticed that her fingers began to untie the laces on his trousers. By the time he realized it, her fingers were pulling them down past his thighs.

            “What—” Raheed blurted, panicked.

            “Shhh.” She held a finger to his lips. “There is nothing you have that I haven’t seen a thousand times before.” Yuva chuckled, her eyes darting downward. Raheed flushed hotter than sun-scorched sand. “Of course, you have a particularly nice one.”

            When Yuva saw his face, she laughed and shook her head. To his shock, she then knelt, her fingers pulling his trousers to the edge of his boots. Numbly, Raheed lifted a foot so that she could remove his shoe, then the other. Whenever he felt this awkward, he wanted to converse, but all of his words got stuck in his throat as he watched the top of her dark head. She was certainly nothing like the last girl, whose only contact with him seemed to be via his cock.

            Once his shoes and trousers were removed, Yuva’s head tilted back, her eyes meeting his. Her hands swept up his calves and his thighs until slipping through the hair along his groin. Raheed jumped back, embarrassed.

            “I should really take a bath,” he blurted, voice breaking.

            Yuva stood slowly, then gestured toward the tub. Gulping, Raheed swiftly walked to the corner and folded his body into the metal container, wincing as cold water surrounded his feet and lower calves. Just as he was trying to adjust, a gentle hand pushed on his shoulder, guiding him down to a sit.

            “Is it alright?” Yuva asked, moving so that she stood beside him.

            “Cold, but it’s fine.”

            “Good.” At that, her arms lifted, her hands fumbling with something underneath her hair. He realized it was another bow, and he felt a different kind of heat in his face. She drew her hair over her shoulder; there was so much of it, he couldn’t pull his eyes away. It was beautiful hair, thick and black as her eyes. His eyes flickered between her hair and the way her hands unknotted the cloth wrapped about her waist. Thoughts might have permeated his mind at some point, but they were lost in the tumultuous ocean of desire and confusion.

            Her eyes locked onto his before she lifted her hands and began to peel away her layers, first the heavy robe and then the thinner, lighter shift beneath. Raheed audibly gulped as she unwrapped her torso, baring her breasts and the soft curves of her waist. He was grateful for the tub’s small size, since his folded legs were protecting the evidence of his arousal.

            “Do you still want to send me away?” Yuva asked, eyes fiery.

            Raheed shook his head, gaze fixated on her body. She hadn’t the tight, thin body of youth, but Raheed hadn’t wanted to touch anything so much in his life, from the dips of her collarbone to the slight mound that rose beneath her belly button and fell before her groin.

            “Good.” She pulled the rest of her clothing from around her knees and ankles and moved back around behind him, pulling the soap and brush from the basket as she went. Raheed preferred that she stand where he could see her, but feeling her presence at his back was just as welcome. He felt her cheek at his ear and her breasts against his back, sensations that made his muscles coil with want. Instead of suffering the silence, Raheed tried to take his mind off of his primal urges.

            “Why did you—why are you here?” Raheed asked as her hands dipped into the water and then slid the soap along his skin. It made it difficult to concentrate.

            “You should never ask for a whore’s story unless you are prepared for sad tale,” she whispered in his ear.

            “Oh.” He paused. “You’re very different from the last girl.”

            “Well, some have more customers than me.” Once a few suds had collected beneath her hands, she brought them to Raheed’s hair, massaging his scalp with slight pressure from her fingernails. “And they have more money to make.”

            “I felt as if she hated me,” he whispered, shocked at how true it sounded. He hadn’t contemplated it before. It had simply jumped onto his tongue and fled.

            “You begin to see all men as one man. So I’m sure it was nothing you did.”

            Raheed frowned. “I felt awful afterwards. As if I were some . . . as if I had . . .” Raheed swallowed and fell silent.

            Yuva was silent, which unnerved Raheed. He twisted to look at her. Her expression was blank.

            “Did you ever want to be this? What you are now?”

            Yuva stared at him for a second, then sighed and smiled, shaking her head. “What kind of talk is this? You’re here to relax.”

            Raheed was not foolish. He understood why she changed the subject, and he decided that fighting for the truth would make neither of them happy. So he exhaled and sank deeper into the tub, relishing the moment Yuva’s hands slipped back into his hair. He wished he could have this without paying. He wished a sad story hadn’t brought her here to this room with him.

            Once his hair was soapy, Yuva’s hands moved southward. As they dropped, her lips touched his neck, her shoulders and chest pressing up against his back. Raheed wanted something that felt so right to _be_ right. He wanted to kiss her, but he was also afraid of offending her.

            “Is this okay?” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. Her hands were roaming up and down his torso, stopping just shy of his groin before sliding back up.

            “Yes,” Raheed replied, voice hitching.

            “Would you like more?”  
            _Yes_. But Raheed could barely form words, so he just sighed and closed his eyes. Then her hands were wrapping themselves around his cock and he let out a long moan, the muscles in his neck tensing. His fingers grappled with the edge of the tub, trying to keep him steady amongst the waves of lust. It wasn’t as if he’d never done this to himself, but it was twenty times more acute when it was someone else. Someone beautiful and sultry, someone who didn’t seem to feel guilt for it.

            Suddenly, she stopped stroking him, her hands moving down his thighs. He slouched, feeling suddenly exhausted. He twisted his head, wanting to look at her. He wasn’t awarded much of a view, but he could see her lips drawn up into a small smile, her eyes darting towards his as if amused.

            “I—” He stopped, realizing he hadn’t anything to say. He fought for words for a moment, then blurted, “Can I kiss you?”

            “If you’d like,” she replied, still smiling.

            His head fell forward, perhaps not as graceful as he’d imagined. After a few seconds with his lips on hers, she pulled back with a chuckle.

            “Careful, dear,” she whispered. “We have all night.”

            “Sorry,” he gasped, feeling embarrassed again. “I—I’ve never kissed a girl before. Woman. I mean woman.” He blinked rapidly several times, trying in vain to recapture his supposed intelligence. “You’re a woman.”

            “That’s what you wanted.”

            He nodded vigorously. “Yes. It is.”

            She reached up with a soapy hand and dragged it senuously through his hair. “Don’t feel the need to apologize to me, Raheed. You shouldn’t be embarrassed.”

            He nodded. After kissing him for a few seconds more, Yuva went back to washing him, this time using the brush to get rid of any further dirt and sand. Raheed stared at the water, a bit repulsed by its dark brown color. He hoped to never go so long without a bath again.

            The rest of the bath progressed quickly, and after washing out the last of the soap in his hair, Yuva helped him out of the tub, patting him dry with a nearby towel. Raheed became a bit more aware of his nakedness and attempted to cover himself. Yuva clucked her tongue in disapproval and pulled his hands away.

            “Don’t,” she said, then took his arm and led him toward the pile of cushions and blankets in the corner. He followed like a lamb did its mother. She pointed to the floor. “Sit.”

            He did so without thinking. Once he was lounging against the pillows, she knelt across his legs and resumed to towel him dry, rubbbing vigorously to restore heat to his skin. Raheed couldn’t help but watch her breasts bounce during her exertions, something that returned fire to his face and groin. He felt some shame for watching, but Yuva didn’t seem to mind. Clearly nudity was not something she was self-conscious about.

            “Now.” She tossed the towel to the side and sat on his thighs. She was heavier than he’d thought. “What is it you want me to do now?”

            “Um . . .”

            “Would you like me on top like this?”

            Raheed shook his head. That would only remind him of the girl from before, who had ridden him with such cold efficiency.

            “Then should I lie on the floor with you on top?”

            Raheed shrugged, the nodded after thinking upon it for a moment. “I think that could work. You don’t have to—”  
            “Shush shush shush.” She held a finger to his lips again. “You pay, you decide. You’ll have to let me lie down though.”

            He moved closer to the wall so that she could collaspe beside him. He liked her very much like this, lying beside him as a wife and a husband might. Leaning his head on his hand, he perused her body with his gaze, from the breasts that had flattened to the dark curls in the triangle of her groin. Her thighs were thick, her knees flushed from kneeling. His hand reached forward, but he quickly withdrew it.

            “Go ahead,” she said. “Touch me.”

            He didn’t know where to touch first, so he went for her stomach first, flattening his palm against her abdomen before curling it and tracing her belly button with his thumb. As he did so, he felt her eyes on him.

            “Can I—”

            “Do whatever you like, go on.”

            Raheed shifted and sat up, then hesitated before bending down and kissing her stomach. She sighed and shifted but made no move to avoid him. Emboldended, Raheed dropped his forehead and rested it on the soft flesh just beneath her breasts. She smelled of jasmine, soap, and tobacco smoke. Something beneath his ribs rearranged itself with a jolt. He hadn’t felt this way about anyone before. He wished he had more nights than just one.

            “Take your time,” Yuva whispered, her hand lifting to stroke his damp curls. “You’re just fine.”

            Raheed lifted his head to catch her gaze. “If there is anything you don’t like, please tell me.”

            She nodded, bemused. “Yes, of course.”

            He shifted again so that he was directly above her now, planting his knees on either side of her. Part of him wanted to move upwards, and another part of him demanded to move down. His lips fell lower, moving from her belly button to the line of hair beyond her hips. When he looked up, he was shocked to find her cheeks pink. He thought blushing had been something only he did.

            “Is something wrong?” he asked.

            She shook her head. “No. You’re just fine.”

            He nodded, then pressed his nose against the inside of her thigh. Yuva’s breath hitched, and it gave him confidence. There were so many stories of a man’s lust, but none of a woman’s. He wanted to see if it existed.

            “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his mouth caressing her hip bone.

            “Raheed,” she sighed. He felt her fingers slip along his face, and he moved upward, pressing his mouth against hers. He took his time, taking heed of how Yuva moved her lips, as he wanted to learn. Slowly her arms curled around his neck, pulling him closer. She lifted a leg to brace against his hip, shortly before Raheed lowered a hand to hold it there, his fingers making dents in the soft weight of her upper thigh. And suddenly there was no choreography or thinking, just limbs tangling and harsh breathing. Raheed fumbled to hold more of her, as if she were water slipping through his fingers. Her hands burrowed throug his hair, then grasped his shoulder blades, pressing his chest against hers. Dropping his lips to the curve of her neck, Raheed found his hips swinging forward to meet her flesh. Heat that could battle the sun’s harshest rays flooded through him, so powerful that the rest of his thoughts drowned in it.

            Her other thigh latched around him. Without thinking, his hand slipped to the junction of thigh and cheek, holding her hips aloft. And then he was in her, burning and wet, the sort of thing men wrote poems about. But it wasn’t like last time, when the physical sensation was all to be found. Yuva was _with him_ , arms around him, breath in his ear, sighing as he moaned. For a second he was sure he loved her more than he’d loved anyone, that they could just be _this_ for the rest of time and Raheed would think it heaven.

            Then the sky shattered, and Raheed found himself falling. It was an exhilarating fall, but one that left him breathless and tired. For a few seconds he could only kneel there and tremble, his lips slipping in the moisture that his breath had left on Yuva’s shoulder. Her hands no longer grabbed him, but instead made light circles along the back of his neck and scalp. His eyes fell open, and he realized what had transpired.    

            He lifted his head to look at Yuva. She smiled softly, face still reddened. Sweat had gathered on her upper lip. He might have stared at her longer, but she cleared her throat and shifted, clearly ready to be let up.

            Flinching, Raheed withdrew from within her. He scrambled to hold onto that euphoric floating feeling as the situation returned to him.

            Yuva sat up onto her elbows and then pulled herself from underneath him. She then stood and walked over to where she had disregarded her clothing. Raheed stared at her back and rump until she pulled her robe around herself and obstructed it from view. Then Raheed stood, feeling sheepish. He wasn’t sure what one might say to a whore after such an event, so he remained silent.

            “These are yours.” Yuva picked up his clothes from the floor and deposited them in his arms. She gave him a kind smile, then lifted a hand to pat his cheek, almost as a mother would. Raheed bit his lip and looked down at the rumpled robes in his arms. He looked up only when he heard her crossing the room. She was leaving already?

            “Wait,” Raheed said, shocked by the tinge of desperation in his voice. Yuva turned, her expression kind but removed. There was no more seduction in those eyes; she’d done her job.

            “Um.” He dug into the pocket of his robes and pulled out two more coins. “Here. You can keep these.”

            She stared at him a second before walking forward and extending her hand. He placed them gently in the center of her palm. After closing her fingers around it, she lifted her gaze to his.

            “You are good man, Raheed,” she said with a sad smile. “One day the empire will take that from you, and all of us whores will lament it.”

            “What does that mean?” Raheed asked.

            She just smiled again and leaned up to kiss his cheek. Then, with a nod, she crossed the room and slipped through the door, closing it softly behind her.

            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact. I had my computer read some of this to me so that I could edit it (it's a good way to catch typos!) and nothing is weirder than having a computery-voice named Alex say "cock". NOTHING. So I turned it off for the more porny parts because I feel like Alex was judging me. Also, he pronounces Raheed as Rahee-ed, which I found pretty amusing. 
> 
> You know what I'd love? Reviews. Maybe Alex could read them for me, cuz he's a champ and has no choice in what he reads. THAT'S RIGHT ALEX, YOU'RE MY ROBOT SLAVE NOW.


	11. His Return

            

**Part Three**

 

            Asan was thirsty, but even if he knew how to ask for water, they wouldn’t give it to him. Several days he ago he had passed out from exhaustion, only to wake up to the boot of the foreman launching at his gut. Bodies were replaceable. Asan was nothing special to them.

            Scared to swallow what precious saliva he could conjure, Asan did his best to ignore his parched throat and return to his work. The slate boulder before him needed to be broken down into pieces small enough to pave roads. So far he’d managed to chip off about four rocks that the foreman might accept. Asan’s chisel was chipped, but Asan made do. If he broke his chisel, he’d be punished, not only for ruining a tool but for slowing down production.

            It was a small quarry where he worked, run by several men who knew more about beating people than they did about mining slate. Then again, the point of their operation was not exactly about what they produced. It was more about allowing annoyed villagers a place to dump whatever troublemakers they could snatch up. Asan had been one of those, kidnapped while he slept and forced to travel barefoot three days to this remote place in the desert, where he was sold to work. Now he missed the villagers from Khafa. At least they had left him alone in his alleyway, and for the most part did not enjoy striking him.

            Something sharp landed across his back. He twisted around to find the tallest foreman standing over him, a whip dangling at his side. Asan assumed he wasn’t happy over the speed of his work. Of course, they never were.

            The foreman said something, but Asan hadn’t a clue to what. Asan just nodded in hopes of pacifying him. The man gave him a harsh glare before striding off to bother someone else. Asan relaxed, as his back was still healing from his last session with that man’s whip.

            Despite his attempts to ignore his thirst, they were all in vain. Just when he was sure he might collapse, one of the foremans went around with a bucket, letting every worker take a gulp. Sometimes, when they were feeling especially cruel, they waited for the worker to put their lips to the rim before shoving the bucket forward, dousing the worker’s head in water and spilling what everyone else needed to drink.

            Asan might have hated them, but by now he had slipped into numb indifference. They were cruel, but Asan hadn’t known many people who weren’t. Only . . .

            Asan’s hammer nearly missed his chisel, then scolded himself for being distracted. Thinking of Raheed never did him any good. It only slowed him down and made his chest hurt. It had been at least two years. Raheed wasn’t coming back.

            Asan took a gulp of water from the bucket, which felt like a cold spike plunging down his throat and into his gut. It didn’t seem like enough, but he’d grown up being starved and thirsty. It was the default for him.

            Like everyone else, Asan kept his eyes on the sun all day. It was the only thing that brought an end to their labor. As it dipped lower and lower, Asan found himself begging that it move faster. His whole body was sore, and his stomach clenched every time he straightened from his stooped position. Pieces of sheer skin flaked off of his lips  and nose.

            Asan set down his hammer and chisel to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He knew he’d regret doing so, because the tall foreman was back, this time striking Asan several times. Only when Asan picked up his hammer and chisel and continued did the abuse stop. Hands shaking and eyes stinging from the sweat gathering in his eyelashes, Asan continued. He only glanced at the horizon once, praying that the sun sink faster. But he paused when he saw a dark blot in the distance, much too large to be a man.

            It didn’t take the guards much longer than Asan to spot the figure. They began to mouth words at one another until one—the boss, from what Asan had been able to tell—strode forward, whip and small sword at ready.

            With the foremans distracted, several of the workers stood and watched. As it came closer, Asan realized it was a camel and rider, moving at an easy, swaying walk. It would have been most likely a man bringing a new prisoner, but he seemed to be alone.

            The traveler’s head and face were covered, and his wardrobe was indistinguishable from those the nearby villagers preferred. His camel finally came to a stop, though the rider did not dismount, nor did his camel bend to let him. The foreman and the man exchanged words, and only when the foreman stepped back did the camel slide into his knees to release his rider. Asan feared watching the scene longer, as any pause in work gave the guards more reason to hit him. But just as he was about to turn away, both men turned and looked straight at him. The guest pointed, then dug through the bags strapped to the camel before pulling out a small sack. The foreman took it without another word and began to shout at his cohorts.

            Before Asan could truly comprehend what had transpired, hands were drawing him to a stand. In his confusion and panic, Asan pulled back briefly, only to be cuffed across the side of his head. Ignoring the pain shooting through his gut and back, Asan let himself be dragged forward, around piles of broken slate and up the incline to where the stranger stood with his pale mount.

            Asan kept his eyes on his feet, afraid that this new man would also find a reason to beat him. His hands were tied in front of him with thick, itchy rope, and then he was tossed onto the back of the camel without about as much care one might show to a sack of flour. As Asan reeled from this odd and new situation, the stranger straddled the camel and drew in the rope connected to its halter. Asan, who had never ridden a camel in his life, practically fell off the back as the camel rose to all fours. He had to grip the back of the stranger’s robes to remain seated. As if that weren’t enough, they’d only walked about ten steps before the stranger kicked the camel into a quick, swaying trot, a gait that forced Asan to grasp the rider in front of him even tighter. Only when they had traveled a good thirty minutes did they stop, this time in the middle of an open expanse of rock and sand. Asan looked for something remarkable that would give them reason to stop, but he only saw a single bush and a large bird flying far overhead.

            The camel jolted again, this time to bend down. Asan tightened his legs, though at least this time if he fell, he wouldn’t be falling far.

            The stranger dismounted once the camel was seated on the ground, then turned to face Asan. Asan leaned back, afraid that one cruel master had been exchanged for another one. After all, he’d seen something exchanged, and money seemed to be the only thing that made the foremen so compliant.

            The man reached up and unpinned the swaths of fabric covering his face. When they fell, Asan gaped, sure for a moment that he had passed out from exhaustion and was simply dreaming.

            Raheed stood before him, looking so unfamiliar in his common robes but also familiar in his stature and breadth. The shag along his jaw and chin gave Asan slight pause, but not much. He was still the handsome young soldier that Asan had met in Khafa, save the new scar across his forehead.

            _Hello,_ Raheed greeted with a wave. Then he pulled a dagger from the scabbard at his belt and used it to cut the rope that bound Asan’s wrists. His proximity brought sudden tears to Asan’s eyes, and once his hands were free, he tossed them about Raheed’s neck, digging his face into Raheed’s shoulder and sobbing like a newborn.

           

*

 

            “You’re not much bigger,” Raheed said, both speaking and signing as they set up camp that night. He held out a piece of dried mutton to Asan, who slurped noisily at the camel’s milk Raheed must have purchased, as the camel he rode was not female. “I assume they didn’t feed you much.”

            Asan shook his head, taking the mutton Raheed offered and consuming it in a flash. He’d never been so hungry or thirsty in his life.

            Raheed sat back, his eyes rooted on Asan as Asan ate. Finally Asan paused and lifted his eyes to his companion’s. He had become so accustomed to ire that it was very odd and almost unsettling to see someone gaze upon him with affection.

            “I was twice your size at your age.”

            Asan shrugged, mouth full.

            “Don’t eat too much. You’ll get sick.”

            Asan gave him a rather perturbed look, then signed, _Are you my mother_?

            “Maybe I am.” Raheed grinned. “How do you know what mothers say anyway? I thought you told me you don’t much remember yours.”

            Asan shook his head. _I don’t_. _But I saw children and their mothers in the market all the time._

Raheed sighed and stood, moving toward the camel to unbuckle its saddle. Asan watched him through the flickering light of the small fire they’d created. He thought he’d hate Raheed for abandoning him, but so far that hatred had not surfaced. There was only relief and elation, a joy so pure it scared him. After years, Raheed had come back. _For Asan_.

            When Raheed returned, he carried the blankets that had been tied beneath the saddle. “Here. Sleep on these.”

            Asan waited for Raheed to set up their sleeping arrangements before continuing their conversation.

            _How did you find me?_ he asked.

            “I asked the villagers. They told me they’d sold you to a quarry east of Khafa. You can imagine how angry I was. Slavery is not allowed within the Mulli empire. You can, however, sell prisoners, but you can’t imprison anyone without a . . .” He paused, hands stalling as he thought. When he couldn’t use his hands, he said, “Trial.”

            Asan’s brow folded. _What is this_?

            “It’s when some men decide on whether or not you did the crime you were imprisoned for. It’s supposed to keep innocent people from going to prison. But I see Khafa still favors the old ways.”

            Asan took another sip of milk. _But you found me_.

            “Yes. How many quarries can there be? I offered the men a, uh . . .” Raheed trailed off again, then continued, “a small amount of money if they’d let me take you. A bribe.”

            As he had not signed the last two words, Asan asked, _Do we need a sign for that word_?

            “Would you like one?”

            Asan nodded.

            Raheed thought for a moment, then pinched two fingers together and placed them against his palm, as if delivering a coin to his own hand. Asan nodded, then sobered.

            _I didn’t think I’d ever see you again_ , he said, head bowed.

            “I didn’t either.” Raheed’s face was grim as he stared into the fire. “Many soldiers died.”

            Asan scooted closer, though he only realized he’d done so after the fact. _Your friends_?

            Raheed looked away but still signed, _All dead_.

            Asan wanted to reach out and touch him, but restrained himself. He wasn’t sure if Raheed would appreciate the gesture. Raheed was still Raheed but . . . different. Not only had he grown taller and wider—typical signs of a man growing up—but there was something in his eyes that wasn’t quite so pure. He used to make  such wide, enthusiastic gestures. Now they were contained, subdued, as if he were afraid someone nearby would see them. What little swagger had lingered before was gone now, as if he no longer believed in his own immortality.

             Asan felt a pang in his chest, thinking of what Raheed might have seen and endured in war. It didn’t make much sense; Asan felt pity for no one, considering his own upbringing. As if anything could rival Asan’s own suffering and neglect. But Asan had not had friends to lose. He imagined it was hard to see the death of those who cared about you. If Raheed died . . . Asan cut the thought off when it distressed him. He’d _thought_ Raheed was dead, but now that Raheed was here, Asan couldn’t imagine losing him again.

            _I’m sorry,_ Asan said when Raheed looked back at the fire. Raheed gave Asan a small, thankful smile. After a long pause, Asan continued. _It’s nice to talk to someone who understands me._

Raheed straightened, surprised for a moment, then chuckled. “You didn’t forget much.”

            _Neither did you_.

            “I may have practiced a little at night, when I was alone.” He sobered. “I always planned on coming back, Asan.”

            _I’d thought you were gone forever. Even if you wanted to come back . . ._ Asan clenched his fingers in brief fists before continuing, _I thought you might be killed_.

            “God must have a purpose for me then. Perhaps that purpose was to save you.”

            Asan felt his shoulders curl inward, feeling suddenly embarrassed. He didn’t like the idea of having to be saved by anyone, but perhaps his time at the quarry had worked him into compliance. With little food and water, the mind tended to sink into obedience. Thinking required too much energy. He was ashamed that Raheed had to see him in a state of such helplessness. Considering Raheed was so brave, he had to think poorly of Asan’s courage.

            _I will save you one day,_ Asan joked.

            “How?”

            _Perhaps you will need to steal food._ Asan grinned around the slice of bread he was consuming. _I am very good at that._

“Where we’re going, you won’t need to steal food.”

            Asan grew curious. _Where_ are _we going?_

“To Ayllamal, the Mulli capital. I was actually travelling with the general of the Mulli army, but we parted ways so that I could come here to find you. We will reunite at the capital, as he told me that I made a good companion.” Raheed seemed delighted by this.

            _But what about me_?

            “You will meet Elder Hassad.”

            _Who?_ Asan always grew frustrated when Raheed said words that he did not sign.

            Raheed attempted to explain. “A cleric, a man of God. In the Mulli army, it is the clerics who teach us how to read and write. Each cleric is assigned a certain number of boys to mentor. Well, Elder Hassad—that’s his name, Asan, I don’t have a sign for it—and I were close. I like to think I was his favorite.” Raheed smirked, and Asan recalled his occasional smug looks from before. “Anyway, he may be able to help find a place for you.”

            _What place_?   

            “I don’t know. A place.”

            Asan frowned. _You are going to drop me off and leave._

“What? No! You can’t just be a beggar boy like you were before, especially not at Ayllamal. Thieves are thrown into real prison, and they aren’t treated well at all. No, you will have to learn a trade.”

            _A . . . what is this_?

            “A trade? It’s something you do. A way you make money. Like a stone mason or a blacksmith.”

            _But I know none of these things_.

            “Well, as you are a boy without a father’s name, it would be hard to get you into such a profession anyway. Most often orphans are servants.”

            _Slaves?_

“No, _servants_. They are paid money.”

            _But they are treated like slaves_.

            “No! Asan, what do you know? Did anyone in Khafa even _have_ servants?”

            _Some men did. They paid them spit._ Asan spit onto the ground to illustrate his point.

            “Well, you’re not going to become wealthy doing it, but Ayllamal pays more than Khafa ever will. It’s a respectable job, even if it’s not ideal.”

            _You are going to leave me. Like a slave._

“Asan . . .” Raheed rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking annoyed. “After all that is happened, you are all I have left. Of course I’m not going to leave you. Elder Hassad knows many people, and he knows who is kind and who is cruel. He will make sure that you are placed with a good home.”

            Asan had been feeling so perfect these past few hours, but now his good mood was sinking much faster than the sun did every day on that quarry horizon. _You will leave me_.

            “I _must_. Unless you want to go to war?”

            _Aren’t you done with war_?  
            Raheed laughed, though it was not a good laugh. “Not until I’m dead.”

            Asan felt a prickling behind his eyes. Just when he’d thought he’d gotten Raheed back, he was going to lose him again. And then he would be alone once more, unable to communicate. Could he suffer the rest of his life in such torturous solitude?

            Raheed must have seen the look on Asan’s face, because he sighed and moved closer, reaching out a hand to place on Asan’s shoulder. Its weight and warmth felt so wonderful; Asan feared losing it.

            “Asan, I will be with you for a while. There’s no sense in worrying about what the future brings. All soldiers return to Ayllamal occasionally. It’s not as if we’d never seen one another.”

            _But you are my only friend_.

            Raheed removed his hand, and Asan fought the urge to grab and hold it. “You can try to make more.”

            _I cannot talk to them!_

“Then teach them how to talk to you.”

            _Who would want to learn?_

“Some would. Perhaps a pretty servant girl who takes a liking to you.”

            Asan made a face, and Raheed laughed.

            “You’re getting older now. You should understand how it is.”

            Asan did not. He had no interest in girls, at least in the way that Raheed alluded to. _I don’t want anyone else. I want you._

“We all have to make sacrifices. That’s how life works.” Raheed put his hands on his thighs and rose to a stand. “I suggest you get some sleep. We have a long ride ahead of us.”

 

*

 

            If they huddled, the saddle was big enough for both of them. Raheed thought it fortunate that Asan was so thin, or else one of them would have to ride behind the saddle, never a comfortable prospect. Raheed considered walking instead, but he knew the camel would walk much faster on its own than it would with him in front of it. It wasn’t as if Asan was heavy, so his additional weight shouldn’t faze the beast much.

            They started riding before dawn, but the day quickly grew hot, especially when they were so close together. At some point, Asan had wrapped his arms around Raheed’s waist, and Raheed hadn’t the heart to tell him to let him go. It would have been useless anyway, as Asan was asleep an hour after their ride began. Raheed couldn’t help but chuckle at the light snores he heard behind him. He was glad that Asan was able to rest at last. The calluses on his hands spoke of hard work. Raheed had feared that servant work may be too much at first for Asan, who had lived his whole life stealing and sleeping. But now it would probably seem like an easy job, compared to breaking rocks.

            While General Mamid had made fair company, it was far better traveling with Asan. Together, they could joke and laugh, and Raheed wasted no time in ruffling Asan’s hair or putting him in a friendly headlock. He had warned himself before retrieving Asan that they shouldn’t grow too close. After all, look what had happened with Jhali—Raheed still had nightmares about it. There were differences though. Asan wouldn’t be in battle, so Raheed would never have to watch him die. If Raheed died, Asan would never see it, a small mercy. Still. Raheed would have to say goodbye to Asan at some point, and the separation would most likely sting. He was beginning to remember why he liked this kid. And without the fear of getting caught, he found himself feeling closer to Asan than ever.

           

*

 

            Two weeks in, and Asan had still not yet found a more comfortable sleeping position than on top of a camel, his arms around Raheed’s waist, his face buried in Raheed’s back. He had gone most of his life without companionable contact, so now that it was allowed, he wanted it to go on forever. He knew it was childish of him to hold Raheed like this, but he hadn’t a chance to be a child. There had never been anyone for him to hold once he’d been weaned from his mother’s breast. Maybe that’s why Raheed allowed it. And maybe Asan believed that was the real reason he liked holding Raheed. Of course it was because of some repressed childhood desires, and had nothing to do with the fact that Raheed was handsome, nor that sometimes, in the moments before he drifted to sleep, Asan felt such _possessiveness_ that it scared him. It was in these moments that Asan believed he might die if Raheed left.

            If they had spent the rest of the eternity wandering the desert, just them and their camel, Asan would have died happy. But eventually they came upon a town, and Asan sank into a bitter mood for it.

            Raheed woke him by nudging him with an elbow. Pulling his head from the sleepy paradise that was Raheed’s broad back, Asan surveyed their surroundings. His stomach sank when he realized there were hovels and people roaming around them. He couldn’t help but put his face back against Raheed’s back, wishing it all away. No. Things had been going so well . . .

            Asan felt the camel descend beneath them, and then his toes were scraping the earth. He had to let go of Raheed when he dismounted, though he wasn’t happy about it. He pouted at Raheed, who stood and waited for him to dismount as well.

            “Don’t pout,” Raheed chuckled. “Come on, we’ll find something to eat.”

            Asan did was he was asked, but not happily. Raheed tied the camel, and Asan gave its forehead a loving scratch. Asan had come to care for the camel too, though Raheed told him not to get attached; it could be sold once they got to Ayllamal.

            It was a small village, so it was easy to find a place to eat. Raheed had always brought Asan filched pieces of bread, which was why it was so odd now when there was no fight, no secrecy about it. And it wasn’t a scrap or watered-down barley soup from the quarry. It was greasy meat wrapped in bread, easily held in one’s hand.

            _What is this?_ Asan asked, trying to sign as he ate, which resulted in not much success in doing either. Raheed laughed as pieces of bread fell into Asan’s lap.

            “Meat pie,” Raheed said, signing only the first word. When Asan looked confused, Raheed said the word again, this time enunciating carefully. He then went on to explain how a pie was made, and Asan watched in wonder. Knowing what it was called didn’t make it taste any better—it was probably the most delicious thing he’d ever eaten, nameless or not—but it was one more word closer to understanding Raheed’s world of speech.

            Asan wanted another one, but he was afraid to ask. So he just watched Raheed finish his.

            Raheed laughed. “I’d get you another one, Asan, but it’d make you sick.”

            _How?_

“You can’t go your whole life surviving on scraps and then eat two meat pies without getting sick. Once you’ve been eating well for a few weeks, you can eat all you like.”

            Asan couldn’t wait. His mouth watered at the thought of it. He straightened. _Will I be able to eat what I want with Elder Hassad_?

            Raheed shrugged. “I don’t know. I imagine.”

            That made his inevitable servitude _slightly_ less dreadful. Asan could tolerate abuse better if his stomach was full.

            Raheed finished his meat pie and stood. Asan frowned up at him.

            _What are we doing now?_ Asan asked.

            “ _You_ ,” Raheed said, walking over to Asan and putting a hand on his shoulder, “are going to get a good night’s sleep so that we’re ready for our journey tomorrow. Come. We’ll find our room.”

            Asan didn’t know why Raheed had pointed to Asan, as if Asan were the only one getting a good night’s sleep. But he stood and followed Raheed, because for some reason, he trusted him.

            The room where they would be resting was filled with other weary travelers, most of whom were already asleep. It made Asan’s skin prickle, as he did not like people, especially in such tight spaces. Who was to say none of these men would steal from them? Asan had stolen things his whole life, so he never trusted anyone else not to.

            There were a few mats that had not yet been taken, so Raheed and Asan stepped carefully over slumbering bodies to reach them. It was almost too dark to see, save one oil lamp burning in the corner. It was by the light of that lamp that Raheed signed to Asan.

            _I have to go take care of something,_ Raheed said, for once speaking only with his hands.

            _What_? Asan asked, perturbed. Hadn’t Raheed brought him up here so they could sleep?

            _It’ll only be a little while. You need to get some sleep._

            _I want to come with you._

            When Asan moved to follow Raheed, Raheed raised his hand, fingers spread. A very clear, _Stop_.

            _But_ —

            _No. You sleep. Now._

            Asan considered arguing, but Raheed’s expression was fierce, and Asan had never seen him look so serious before. With a childish pout, Asan sank onto the mat, arms crossed over his chest. Raheed sighed.

            _I’ll be back soon._

Asan just turned away, pulling a blanket from the sack he’d brought with him and spreading it out on the floor. By the time he’d situated himself on it, Raheed was gone.

            Asan tried to go to sleep, but couldn’t. It was probably a first, since he’d been sleeping constantly since Raheed’s rescue. After traveling all day and eating well, it was hard to keep one’s eyes open. But curiosity kept his body alert, and after a half an hour of staring into darkness, he decided that Raheed was taking too long.

            Asan pulled himself to a stand and crept through the room, avoiding stepping on any bodies. Once he’d gotten into the hall, he realized he had no real plan. Raheed could be anywhere, and he couldn’t go barging into rooms at random.

            Asan decided to look around anyway. He had just turned into another narrow corridor when he saw movement in the shadows. Ducking down into the hall he’d just left, he poked his nose over the corner.

            It was Raheed alright, as well as a woman in black, her braided hair running all the way down to her waist. It was hard to see much beyond that, except perhaps the white smiles that flashed in the dark. The woman lifted a hand to cover her grinning mouth, then shook her head. For an instant she pressed closer to Raheed, and Asan noticed them exchanging what looked like Mulli coins.

            Then the woman was turning away, and Raheed began to head down the aisle. With a start, Asan reeled backwards and dashed toward the room from which he’d come. He didn’t know what Raheed would do if he’d seen Asan snooping, but Asan wasn’t going to take any chances.

            Asan had just collapsed to their rented floor space when Raheed entered the room. Asan closed his eyes for a moment and pretended to sleep, but Raheed’s foot caught his shoulder as he attempted to step over him, which gave Asan an excuse to sit up and look at him.

            _Sorry_ , Raheed said. This was the first time Asan got to look at him in the dim lamp light. His clothing sat upon his shoulders awkwardly, and several of his short curls stood up crookedly There was a flush to his face as well, as if he’d been running.

            _What were you doing_? Asan asked.

            Raheed sighed. _Go to bed._ Then he lied down and rolled over to face the opposite direction.

            Asan frowned at Raheed’s back, but decided that it was a battle he couldn’t fight tonight. So he sank down to the floor and cradled his head in his hands, eager for tomorrow to arrive. Once they left this town, they’d have at least another week until they reached another settlement, giving Asan more time alone with Raheed and less time crammed into small rooms with smelly strangers.


	12. Ayllamal

 

            Asan was always silent, but his hands were rarely still. Today seemed to be a different story. As he and Raheed gathered supplies, Asan looked sullen, his arms crossed over his chest, his lips pursed. Raheed might have laughed, as he considered his attitude childish. However, traveling with an angry companion was never entertaining, so Raheed struggled to make amends.

            “Are you mad at me?” Raheed asked as they filled their water canteens at the village well.

            Asan said nothing, only stared into the distance.

            Raheed put a hand on Asan’s shoulder, but Asan brushed him off. Rolling his eyes, Raheed thrust a dripping canteen against Asan’s chest, forcing him to uncross his arms.

            “You’re a young man now, Asan. You can’t act like a toddler about these things.”

            _I am not acting like a toddler!_

            “You’re having a . . . tantrum. It’s when a child gets mad and throws things. Uh.” Raheed struggled to think of a way to sign it. He clenched two fists together and shook them. “Tantrum.”

            _I am not throwing things_!

            “You look like you might.”

            _What were you doing last night?_

“This again? Asan, it doesn’t _matt—”_

            _You were with a woman._

Raheed froze, then spun to glare at Asan. “How do you know what I was doing?”

            To his credit, Asan looked a bit sheepish. But he quickly regained his frown and confidently signed, _I saw you in the hall with a woman_.

            “You _spied_ on me?”  
            _What is this?_

            Raheed didn’t have the patience at the moment to explain what _spied_ meant. “I told you to go to bed.”

            _You wouldn’t tell me where you were going._

_“_ What did you see?”

            _I saw you talking to a woman._

Raheed closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to rein in his temper. He had never been in charge of a child before, even if Asan was barely still that. Then it struck him that Asan might not even _know_ what a whore was. But by now Asan was fourteen, fifteen—much older than Raheed was when he figured out what whores were. Then again, Raheed had been surrounded by curious young boys heavily influenced by the older soldiers they so admired. No soldier could pass up the temptation of explaining to worshipful ten-year-olds what a man might do with a beautiful woman. At least, Raheed had assumed it was tempting, back when he was ten. Now he just felt like letting Asan figure it out on his own, though considering Asan’s lack of experience and his inability to talk to others, that might take too long.

            _You paid her_.

            “Aren’t you quite observant?”

            _What is this_?

            Raheed growled under his breath. He hadn’t the patience to invent gestures at the moment. “Asan, go back to the camel and wait there until I come for you, is that clear?”

            Asan only glowered at him. _No_.

            Raheed had been told _no_ many times by many different types of people, because a _bhanak_ was a low station in life, especially a young one. But any _bhanak_ was of higher status than a Khafan, and Raheed decided that if Asan was going to learn anything today, it would be a taste of how Mulli ran things. He’d best learn it quick before he met Elder Hassad, because Elder Hassad had zero tolerance for insolence. If Asan did not become more compliant soon, Elder Hassad would toss him out on the street, and that’s the last thing Raheed wanted.

            “You will do as I say,” Raheed snapped, forgetting to sign in his annoyance.

            _Stop it_! Asan replied, his gestures frantic now. _I cannot understand!_

Raheed took a handful of Asan’s robes and began hauling him back to the camel. Asan twisted and pulled at Raheed’s fist, but could not dislodge it. Their stride was quick, so Asan had to either let himself be led or get trampled.

            The camel looked at them in mild interest as Raheed thrust Asan to the ground at its side. Asan tried to rise again, but Raheed shoved him back down. When Asan whined, Raheed’s fist returned to the robes around Asan’s neck and forced him back against the saddle. At last, Asan stilled, wide eyes fixed on Raheed in defiance.

            “Are you going to act like this when we go to Ayllamal?” Raheed asked. “Hmm?”

            Asan reached up to pull at Raheed’s grip, but Raheed batted him away. When Asan said nothing, Raheed shook him, resulting in Asan’s low-pitched whimper. He was slowly withdrawing his limbs against himself, like a young cub finally submitting.

            With a sigh of exasperation, Raheed let go of Asan’s robes and stood, signing as he said, “You stay here with the camel. I will be back within the hour, and then we will leave.”

            Asan only sat there, staring at the ground, so Raheed left, irritation evident in his stance and stride. 

 

*

 

            Asan had wanted to walk, but he was afraid to suggest it, so he took his usual position on the camel, though he made pains not to touch Raheed more than necessary. He was angry, _so angry_ , but after being shoved to the dirt, Asan began to realize there was nothing he could do about it. Raheed was bigger, older, a soldier trained in combat. Asan had thought them friends, but maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe he was a slave who, up until now, had simply been on good terms with his master. After all, Raheed had told him that he was to be a servant. Servant, slave . . . Asan didn’t know the difference between them.

            Asan had thought he could never hate Raheed, but right now he believed he did. This was why the Khafa villagers hated Mulli soldiers—they bossed you around and thought themselves better for it. Well, Asan wasn’t a slave. Raheed had no right to treat him like one.

            They didn’t speak all day until dusk approached and they stopped to set up camp. Asan had become good at removing the camel’s saddle and brushing him down, one of the few chores he relished. The camel rested his head against Asan’s shoulder, and Asan resisted the urge to do the same. Camels were good. They did not yell or shove or demand obedience.

            Someone gripped Asan’s shoulder, and for a brief moment, Asan prepared to shrug him off. But then he remembered the look in Raheed’s eyes from this morning, and he decided that it was easier to turn and acknowledge him than to be tossed down and disciplined like a moody child.

            “I made us a hasty soup,” Raheed said, pointing to the small fire he’d created. Asan sighed and took the bowl he was offered.

            Dinner was mostly silent, at least until Raheed finished and began to sign. He did not speak as he did so.

            _You are still mad at me?_ he asked.

             Asan dropped his eyes to his bowl, running a finger along the rim to catch the few lentils he’d missed. Finally he replied, _You were mean to me_.

            _I won’t apologize for it. You think_ I _was mean to you? If I had spoken to my superiors like you did to me today, I would have been beaten with a cane._

Asan flushed. _You are my superior_?

            Raheed sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him. _I am older than you and yes, in the eyes of Mulli, my status is higher than yours_.

            There was a tightness in Asan’s throat, but he ignored it. _I thought we were friends_.

            _We are. But Asan . . ._ Raheed ran a hand through his hair, then scratched his neck. “Asan, it can’t always be like this.”

            _Why not_?

            “Because servants can’t be friends with soldiers in Mulli. I would very much like for us to be friends, but I don’t see how it’s possible, and I don’t want to deceive you. Once we reach Ayllamal, things will have to be different. Not _very_ different. We can still talk, teach one another things. But . . .” Raheed’s hands stalled as he struggled to find words. “But you cannot defy me like this, at least not in public. It would be seen as insubordinate. Wrong. This is the sign for wrong, right?”

            _I just wanted to know what you were doing last night_.

            “I told you to stay and sleep.”

            Tears began to gather in Asan’s eyes. _I don’t want to be a servant_. _I want to be your friend_.

            Raheed’s gaze was sad but resolute. _I’m sorry, Asan. There’s no other way._

Asan wanted to hit him. It seemed the older he got, the more violent tendencies he had to tamp down. Part of him wanted to run. If he took off now, would Raheed stop him? But then where would Asan go? Back to his old life, stealing morsels off the street and nursing the wounds he acquired for it. The _unfairness_ of it overwhelmed Asan, made him angry. But when had he expected things to be fair? Things had never been fair. If life were fair, his parents would have kept him and he would have grown up as just another peasant. If life were fair, he’d be able to hear, talk, and communicate. He wouldn’t need Raheed, or anyone really. He could be a shepherd, spend all day with camels and forget about everyone else.

            Asan always felt betrayed, but he wasn’t sure why, since Raheed had never promised him much. It just showed how much of a fool Asan was, to become so trusting just because Raheed didn’t strike him down like the rest. Were his standards really so low?

            When Asan looked up from his feet, Raheed was kneeling in front of him. It was as if a hole had opened up in the floor and all of his rage fell through. Because Raheed was the only person in Asan’s life to show him any kindness. If Raheed knew how much time had been wasted thinking about him during the years he’d been gone, he might change his mind about bringing Asan to Ayllamal. With Raheed so close, Asan couldn’t muster ire or disappointment. Asan quelled the desire to reach out and touch Raheed, even if it was a wrinkle in his clothing. 

            “Asan,” Raheed said, face sober yet sympathetic, “things are changing so rapidly for you. If I could take you and make you a soldier in the army, you know I would. But . . . well, your . . . affliction hinders that somewhat.”

            _What is that_?

            Raheed sighed, then chuckled slightly. Asan couldn’t help but feel a stroke of cheer at seeing Raheed smile.

            “Affliction is like a sickness. You can’t hear, so it is your affliction.”

            _I am not sick. There is nothing wrong with me_.

            “You may be right. Maybe there’s something wrong with the rest of us.”

            Asan nodded, barely containing a small smile.

            Raheed reached out and put a hand on Asan’s knee. Asan sucked in a sharp breath, more from shock at his physical reaction to the gesture than the gesture itself. But he knew Raheed was just being friendly, so he tried to brush it off.

            “I promise you that you will be well-looked after. And while you may have to defer to your superiors—”

            _What is that_?

            “Defer means to do what others of higher rank ask of you.”

            Asan wrinkled his nose, and Raheed laughed at that as well.

            “Well, unless you are Caliph, you must defer to someone. There are many men I defer to, but that does not mean I am a slave. Well, I suppose I am . . .” Raheed trailed off and winced. “There you go, you’re better off than me in that regard.”

            _You paid for me_.

            “I did. But I paid to set you free. If you want to leave, you’re free to go.”

            Asan shook his head. Part of him _had_ wanted to run, but he knew deep inside that there was no leaving Raheed.

            “It is not much different from respecting a parent or grandparent. You would not talk back to your mother, would you?”

            _I never had a mother_.

            “I can’t remember mine much either, but I imagine I’d do what she said without arguing. Or maybe I wouldn’t.” Raheed shrugged. “Either way, just because you must occasionally bow and do as your told doesn’t mean your life is over.”

            _But you said we can’t be friends_.

            “We can. Just not in public.”

            _That is stupid_.

            “It is stupid, but that’s how it is.” He gave Asan’s knee another companionable squeeze before standing. “Don’t worry. Things will be better when we get to Ayllamal. I promise.”

            Asan knew he shouldn’t trust him, but he did anyway. Because it was Raheed, and Asan was beginning to realize the extent of what he would do for Raheed.

 

*

 

            It took a few months, but towns grew larger and more copious the closer they came to Ayllamal, so travel was not so exhausting. However, no town in the world could truly compare to the walls that slowly came into view as they began their last few days of riding. To Raheed’s knowledge, there was no wall thicker or taller than that which surrounded Ayllamal. And beyond that wall was the sea, blue and endless, vivid as the lapis lazuli used in Mulli mosaics. The closer they came to Ayllamal, the more Raheed sniffed the air, waiting for the refreshing breeze one could always find along the endless docks scattered along Ayllamal’s shores. His chest constricted with the memories of him, Jhali, Habib, and Kavin running along those docks, occasionally pushing one another into the shallow water and chasing off the flocks of seagulls that would block their path. They were such pure, innocent memories of a moment he’d never have again.

              _That’s it_? Asan asked in wonder as they neared the walls. By now they’d joined a few caravans headed in the same direction, some carrying wares so unusual that Asan’s head was constantly swiveling around to look at them.

            “That’s it.”

            _It is enormous. Where does the wall end_?

            “It makes a gigantic circle around the mouth of the Ahkme river, which is home to some of the richest soil in the empire. The wall looks different there, much older and shorter, but defensable nonetheless.”

            _It is . . ._ Asan’s hands fought to express his amazement, but Raheed didn’t need him to say it, because it was all written on his face. Raheed laughed and clapped him on the back, which put a bigger grin on Asan’s face than the sight of the wall did.

            A cool breeze slipped against Raheed’s sweaty face, and he had to close his eyes a moment when his emotions spiked. This was home, and he was the only one, outside of General Mamid, who was coming back to it. The significance was not lost on him. He had been brought here by a larger power. To do what, he wasn’t sure. But he would hold the memories of those he lost deep within, safe and sacred. With Raheed, Jhali, Habib, and Kavin were finally safe.

 

*

 

            Raheed had chastised him twice for fidgeting, but Asan couldn’t help it. He was looking everywhere—the streets, the houses, the traffic, even the white birds drifting over his head. He had never seen something so amazing and wonderful, a city straight from the most lavish of dreams. There were parts that were familiar to him—the plaster walls, the cobblestone streets, the occasional urchin begging change off of a man of substantial wealth. But there was so much _more_. The crowds alone were enough to swallow a man up. Asan was glad he was with Raheed, as he knew this was a maze he’d never find the end to.

            Asan tapped Raheed’s sleeve insistently. When Raheed twisted around to face him, Asan gestured frantically at the minarets that stood tall in the distance.

              _What is that? What is that_?

            Raheed made the sign for “temple”.

            _They are gold!_

Raheed nodded, then smiled. He signed, _there is much gold in Ayllamal_.

            Asan had never seen gold outside of an occasional pin or trinket. To see such massive structures crowned with it made his jaw drop.

            _Can we go see them?_

_Some time, yes_.

            Raheed face forward again, and Asan returned his eyes to the scenery. He wanted to know what kind of birds flew overhead. He wanted to know how they built their houses so tall, how they paid for gold roofs on their temples. But he knew that perhaps now was not the best time to ask all those things, so he settled on one question. He tapped on Raheed’s arm again.

            _Is there a palace?_ Asan asked.

            _Yes._

            _Can we go see it_?

            Raheed seemed to think about this for a moment, then sighed and nodded. _Okay_.

            With a grin, Asan thanked Raheed by wrapping his arms about his waist and squeezing him. He had been dreading their arrival to Ayllamal for a while, but now that he was here, he’d forgotten why he’d been so afraid. There was so much to see, and he wondered if there was enough time in a life to see it all.

            It was slow-going, though the crowds were worse in the bigger streets than the smaller ones. Luckily Raheed seemed to know where he was going, and they were able to take back alleys when the congestion was too thick elsewhere. When they weren’t surrounded by donkeys, camels, horses, goats, and pedestrians, Raheed would twist around and point to something, such as the white birds that intrigued Asan.

            _Those are birds that live by the sea._ “Seagulls.”

            _There are so many_.

            _They know where to find food._ Raheed smiled. _They are like you, beggar birds_.

            Asan craned his neck back to watch them. At least if he were a beggar bird, he would be able to fly. He supposed if he could fly, he would choose the sea. It seemed like a much more beautiful place than the desert.

            It took them two hours, but they eventually arrived at what Raheed called Center City. There was a wide-open courtyard surrounded by shops, and then a wall topped with elegant spires, a wall so polished that Asan could see a bit of his reflection in it. He leaned in close, hoping to catch a glimpse of a face he had not seen in a very long time. Of course, doing so, he spotted odd forms carved in a horizontal line above a detailed moasic of twirling plant-life.

            _What is this_? Asan asked.

            “That is writing.”

            Asan gaped at it for a moment. He had only seen what Raheed had once carved into the sand. He hadn’t known the looping forms could look like this, nor that they could be carved into stone.

            _Can you read it?_ Asan asked excitedly.

            Raheed nodded and spoke aloud, _“Praise God and his Caliphate and his empire, as they are one and true and holy.”_

_The caliph lives in there_?

            Raheed nodded. “Far beyond these walls. Few will see the palace itself.”

            Asan sighed in disappointment. He had once seen a tapestry with a depiction of a palace, with roofs shaped like raindrops, all gilded with gold and sapphires. When he was younger, Asan used to pretend he was the king of all the land, and that the people loved him. He would go into the desert to enact these elaborate fantasies, and the camels would be his adoring subjects.

            It all seemed so foolish now.

            _Have you ever seen the caliph_?

            Raheed shook his head. “He does not come out often.”

            Asan ran his fingers over the writing carved into the wall. _Elder Hassad taught you to read_?

            “Yes.”

            _Will he teach me to read_?

            “Perhaps.” Raheed reached out an arm and slipped it around Asan’s shoulders, pulling him from the wall. “Come now. We must make it to Elder Hassad’s before dark.”

           

*

 

            Raheed used the heavy brass knocker to rap three times on the gate. The sun sank low in the sky, staining it a brilliant orange. Asan stood back aways in the empty alleyway, holding the camel’s head in his arms. Raheed recalled how skittish Asan had been in the beginning; clearly he did not warm up easily to strangers.

            It took a while, but the gate finally opened. Through the gap appeared an old, hunched man, wearing a nondescript brown tunic and loose trousers gathered at the ankles. On his feet were slippers worn thin, though Raheed doubted the servant needed them. As a boy, he had asked to see servant Bhada’s hands and marveled at the calluses there, like old leather. Bhada had been getting old even back then. Raheed was glad to see that he was alive and well, though he moved much slower than Raheed recalled.

            “Hello, Bhada,” Raheed said, beaming.

            Bhada grinned right back. He was missing most of his teeth at this point, but Raheed couldn’t recall him ever owning all of them, so it didn’t make much difference. Bhada dropped his head low, though he didn’t need to; Raheed would have been taller than him had Bhada stood his full height. “Master Raheed, it is so good to see you looking so well. You must come inside at once.”

            Bhada pulled back the old wooden gate, and Raheed stepped into the small fenced yard, Asan following just one stride behind. It wasn’t customary for soldiers to visit their teachers’ homes, as the clerics so often lived at the training grounds during training seasons. But Raheed had been here often enough to recall the scraggly tree still surviving in the corner of the yard, as well as the stepping stones leading up to the arched doorway, where there was no door. Elder Hassad’s house stood two stories tall, though Elder Hassad had stopped using the upper level before Raheed left for Khafa. The stairs were steep, and Elder Hassad’s knees were poor.

            “You can leave the camel here. I will take care of it and unpack your things. Elder Hassad asked to see you at once.”

            Raheed paused. “He _asked_ to see me?”

            “General Mamid has already stopped by to speak with him, Master Raheed. Elder Hassad knew that you were com—”

            “Bhada!” came a familiar voice from within the house. “You tell that boy to get in here this instant.”

            Bhada gave Raheed a smile, gesturing him forward. Raheed took a deep breath and strode up onto the tile porch, then through the curtains that blocked the doorway. Asan was close behind, acting like a child about to be torn from his mother.

            The doorway led immediately to another small courtyard in the center of the house, nothing more than a small birdbath and a skinny palm tree shooting up slightly off center. A veranda surrounded the courtyard, and from this walkway one could access the house itself. Directly across from Raheed was the stairwell to the upper balcony, which to Raheed’s knowledge housed several guest bedrooms. It was neither palace nor hovel, but it was more than enough for an old man.

            “Raheed!” Elder Hassad called from a room across the courtyard.        

            Raheed stepped into the courtyard and around the birdbath, through the veranda, and into the room from which he’d heard Elder Hassad’s voice. He stopped in the doorway and found Elder Hassad seated on a pile of cushions on the floor, the orange glow of dusk making patterns on the rugs as it filtered through latticed windows. Elder Hassad was smoking a long pipe, reading what looked like a scroll in his lap. His reaction was subdued, but Raheed noticed the upward twinge of his lips. His eyes spoke of repressed joy.

            “Come closer, Raheed, come closer. My mind is sharp, but my eyes not so much.”

            Raheed did as he was bid, stepping forward and then sinking to his knees on the rug across from Elder Hassad. He placed his hands on the floor and then his forehead to his hands—a gesture of respect and humility.

            “Ah, put your head up so I can look at you.”

            Raheed rose to a sitting position, failing to hide his smile. “It is so good to see you again, Elder.”

            Elder Hassad watched him through the cloud of smoke drifting from his pipe. “My, my, look at how you’ve grown. You were a scrap when you left, weren’t you? How long as it been?”

            “About six years, Elder.”

            “Pah.” Then Elder Hassad smiled, an expression he did not often wear. “The general stopped by last week to bring me good news of your survival. I do not believe in coincidences, and I think that God has a plan for you, to bring you this far when all others have perished. Have you thought about that?”

            Raheed nodded. “Yes, Elder, I have.”

            “Don’t take it lightly.”

            “I won’t.”

            Elder Hassad began to stroke his long beard, a habit he’d always had as long as Raheed could remember. Then he turned and looked at Asan, who was still standing on the veranda, looking uncertain and very timid.

            “Who’s this? Did an urchin follow you in?”

            “Ah. Elder . . .” Raheed waved Asan forward, and Asan did so, though very slowly. He kept his hands folded in front of him and his eyes on the ground, as he and Raheed had discussed. “Elder, this is Asan. He _was_ an urchin when I found him. He’s from Khafa, where I was stationed for about two years.”

            Elder Hassad said nothing, only stroked his beard and smoked his pipe. He was waiting for Raheed to arrive upon the point.

            “I brought him here because I was hoping we could—that you could help me find him a home.”

            “An orphan boy? What will I do with an orphaned street urchin? Pah!” Elder Hassad threw up a hand. “If I could count how many pathetic little boys have rifled through my pockets, they’d name me Master Mathematician, wouldn’t they?”

            Raheed took a deep breath. He’d known this wouldn’t be easy, as the only man more stubborn than Raheed was Elder Hassad. It was why he’d been such a good teacher.

            “What does he do? What are his talents? Has he apprenticed anywhere?”  
            “Well, not exactly—he did work in a quarry! But I’m not sure if that’s the line of work I was thinking of for him.”

            “Ah. I see.” Elder Hassad shifted, lowering his pipe to his lap. “This reminds me of that time you brought me that baby bird, the one you were so concerned about. What did I tell you then?”

            Raheed frowned. “Elder—”

            “ _What_ did I tell you?”

            Raheed returned his eyes to the floor. “That there were thousands of birds to take its place.”

            “Yes. We can’t weep and moan over one dead baby bird, espcially a damn seagull. Got enough of those squawking about.” Most clerics did not swear, but they didn’t drink wine either; Elder Hassad had always believed that God didn’t have time for trivial things like that. “While I’m sure you’re very concerned for the boy’s well-being, there are thousands with the same predicament. I can’t pull them off the streets too, can I?”

            “Asan is very bright. He could—”

            “And others are strong, and others are quick, and others more are all three. The point is that the boy has no skills. The only people who will take him is the orphanage, so you’d best drop him off there.”

            “The _orphanage_?”

            “Yes, it’s run by clerics, good people. They’ll see to it that he is taken care of.”

            “You mean rented out to work eighteen hours a day and then thrown a scrap of bread as compensation?”

            Elder Hassad’s lips thinned, and Raheed regretted his outburst. He had grown used to the freedoms of a soldier in foreign territory. He’d forgotten all the rules from before.

            “Raheed, it seems like the desert has addled your mind, so let me remind you of your place.”

            “I’m sorry, Elder.” Raheed bowed his head, though his blood still ran thick with indignation.

            Elder Hassad’s eyes returned to Asan, whose head was even more bowed now than it was before.

            “You boy. Get over here and let me look at you.”

            “Elder—”

            “I didn’t ask you, Raheed.”

            “He can’t hear.”

            Elder Hassad’s gaze returned to Raheed. “What?”

            “Elder, he is deaf. It is why he was a street urchin to begin with.”

            “ _Deaf_?” Elder Hassad frowned. “How could he possibly be of any use to _anyone_?”

            “I have learned how to speak with him, Elder. We communicate just fine.”

            “How is that?”

            Raheed stood and walked over to Asan, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. Asan lifted his gaze to Raheed’s, eyes wide with apprehension.

            _It will be okay,_ Raheed signed.

            _He doesn’t like me_.

            _Elder Hassad doesn’t like anyone_ , Raheed replied with a small smile. _But give him time and he will learn to like you._

            “What are you doing?” Elder Hassad asked.

            “We use our hands instead of our words, Elder. It’s a language we’ve created on our own.”

            “And you understand this?”

            Raheed nodded. “It’s mostly memorization. I told you Asan was smart; much of it was created by him.”

            “And you’ve had time to learn all of this?”

            “We created it when I was in Khafa, then more on our way back to Ayllamal.”

            “And how do you expect _me_ to communicate with him?”

            “It is a simple language to learn. You already know so many, Elder.”

            “Don’t attempt to soften me with flattery.” Elder Hassad turned sharp eyes to Asan. “It is a very odd way of speaking. I’m not sure if I believe it.”

            “Asan could teach you.”

            “Pah!” Elder Hassad brought his pipe to his lips again, puffing on it several times before gesturing Asan forward. “Get him over here so I may look at him, see what other afflictions he has. Come, boy.”

            Asan understood this gesture, so he stepped forward. Raheed put a heavy hand on his shoulder, pushing him down to a kneeling position. Asan, who had watched Raheed execute the bow from before, performed a sloppier version, putting his hands to the floor and then his forehead to his hands. Elder Hassad impatiently waited for Asan to rise before grabbing his chin and pulling him closer. Asan flinched, but he did not pull away. Raheed was glad of that.

            “It doesn’t look like anything’s wrong with him.”

            “I don’t think it was an injury that caused his loss of hearing, Elder. I think he was born that way.”

            “Cursed, probably.” Yet Elder Hassad’s voice carried no suspicion as he tilted Asan’s head to the side. “Has he ever been sick?”

            “Not to my knowledge. Only starved.”

            “Don’t look at me like that, boy,” Elder Hassad said to Asan. “I’m not going to eat you, for God’s sake.” He paused. “Do you understand anything I say?”

            “He can lip read a little bit, but mostly Aillab, not Aillic.”

            “It is something he must learn.”

            Raheed nodded. “Yes. But I know he can.”

            Elder Hassad released Asan with a sigh. “So you bring me a beggar boy who not only has no skills but cannot speak or hear?”

            “I suppose I did, Elder.”

            “You should have left him in the streets.”

            Raheed said nothing, hoping that if he persisted enough, Elder Hassad would give in. For his age, he still remained curious and open to challenges. Of course, most of those challenges were either philosophical or mathematical. A problematic soldier was no problem for him; he was paid by the empire to train soldiers. But servants? While Elder Hassad donated to the poor like any good cleric, he was a strict believer in hard work and sacrifice, not charity.

            “But,” Elder Hassad continued eventually, “like I said before, I do not believe in coincidences. If God should see fit to bring you alive to my doorstep when all others have perished, then he sought to challenge me with this boy. Everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it Raheed?”

            Raheed tried to keep from smiling. “Yes, Elder.”

            “I’ll give him two weeks with Bhada to train. If Bhada thinks he lacks potential, then it is to the poorhouse with him. And if he attempts to steal anything, then it’s to the dungeons. Tell him this so he understands.”

            Raheed did so, and Asan looked briefly offended at the implication that he was a thief, but then again, he _had been_. Asan signed with great emphasis that he was not a criminal, and Raheed made sure to carry over such emphasis in his translation.

            “You can never be too safe. I’m an old man, so I know others are quick to take advantage.”  
            “Of you, Elder? I’ve seen you make grown soldiers weep.”

            At this, Elder Hassad smiled a bit, then shook his head. “Yes, well, _soldiers_ are easy. Servants and urchins are more resilient. They are scared of nothing, and that is what makes them dangerous. But this boy.” He gestured with his pipe at Asan. “I see fear in his eyes, and that is a good thing. I don’t know how I’m going to speak to him if he can neither speak nor hear _nor_ read lips.”

            “I can help translate, Elder, and perhaps teach you some of the gestures. They are not hard.”

            “Hmph. Well then.” Elder Hassad shifted, then held out a hand. Raheed rushed forward to take his arm and help him to a shaky stand. He also retrieved the walking stick that Elder Hassad pointed to, which rested against the window.

            “Ah, between Bhada and I, getting myself to a stand is always such an operation.” With gnarled fingers, Elder Hassad smoothed the wrinkles out of his robes. “I’ve told him many times that he needs to go live with his son and enjoy the rest of his days in peace, but Bhada is very stubborn.”

            “I do recall, Elder.”

            “Perhaps acquiring this boy will finally convince him. It has been a while since I’ve had some young legs to do the chores about this house. It’s falling into ruin.”

            Raheed had noticed that it looked a bit dustier than he had recalled, but of course he would never mention such a thing. Bhada was a very loyal and hardworking servant, but there was only so much an old man could do.

            “I didn’t know Bhada had a son, Elder. Isn’t he . . . he isn’t Mulli.”

            “No, of course not. He’s not married; most servants aren’t. Doesn’t keep them from replicating, does it?”

            “I . . . suppose not, Elder.”

            “Now, this boy . . . what did you say his name was?”

            “Asan, Elder.”

            “Asan, eh? That is a very old word for—”

            “—peace. You taught me that, Elder.”

            Elder Hassad lifted his eyes to Raheed, who rubbed his lips together at the interruption. Fortunately Elder Hassad decided not to take offense and nodded.

            “Is there a particular reason you called him that?”

            “I thought it was a nice name for him, that’s all.”

            “Hm. Asan. Well, his affliction is a problem if I cannot call him to me. Do you have a solution for that, Raheed?”

            Raheed thought a moment, then shrugged. “You could train a dog.”

            “A dog?”

            “Yes. You tell the dog Asan’s name and the dog will retrieve him.”

            There was a moment of silence. Then Elder Hassad chuckled and patted Raheed’s arm, rare contact that made Raheed’s chest swell with pride. Elder Hassad had called him stupid many times, but not quite as many times as he’d called Raheed smart.

            “Ah, _this_ is a clever idea. But so much training and learning for one servant.”

            “You always told me that challenges kept a man’s mind sharp, Elder.”

            “Using my own words against me, eh? Well. Perhaps you are right. I don’t normally teach those soldier boys anymore, and I’m bored. This may be a good distraction for me.”

            Raheed could tell that while Elder Hassad was slow to warm to the idea, he was now working himself up over it, imagining the possibilities and the advantages of a secret language. The delight was growing in him, the hunger for knowledge. It was what had always inspired Raheed to learn more than the other boys. It was a trait he shared with his mentor, and it was this trait that endeared the cleric to him.

            “I assume you will be training this dog,” Elder Hassad said.

            “I must return to our barracks and see what my orders are. I may have to leave immediately.”

            “But if you don’t . . .”

            Raheed bowed slightly. “If I am asked to stay for a bit, then I will most certainly take charge of finding you a dog.”

            “And this servant. I expect you to teach both Bhada and me how to communicate.”

            “Most definitely.”

            “And you will take all blame if he proves unsatisfactory.”

            “Yes, Elder.”

            “Hmph.” Elder Hassad rapped his cane twice on the tile before turning to Asan, who had been trying to follow the conversation. Raheed could tell because his eyes were squinted, his lips trying to form the words he was seeing. His eyes widened and his mouth sealed shut once the attention was on him.

            “You are allowed to live here,” Elder Hassad told him as Raheed translated, “on one condition only. You will do everything Bhada asks of you and you will not complain. It’s clear to me that you don’t understand how servants behave in Mulli society, so you must follow Bhada’s example. You have a month to show me that you belong in this house. If not, then the streets will be your next home. Is that clear?”

            It took Raheed a moment longer to clarify the conditions, but eventually Asan bowed his head and nodded, his expression tight and unhappy. Raheed knew how much Asan disliked doing as he was told, but he was not stupid. Asan would be a fool to turn down such an offer.

            “Excellent. Now where is Bhada?”


	13. Elder Hassad

             Before being sold to the quarry, Asan might have balked at hard work. Now he was simply glad to be doing it out of the sun, with plenty of water to drink and more than stale bread to eat. It helped that Bhada seemed nice enough, if not very particular to how he wanted things done.

            Raheed and Asan slept at Elder Hassad’s house that night, but Raheed left quickly the next day, telling Asan that he had to find General Mamid and then receive his next orders. Asan asked how he would communicate without him, but Raheed assured him that he would do fine. Besides, Raheed had said, he’d probably be back before nightfall to clarify anything he didn’t understand.

            Asan’s first chore was to help Bhada prepare breakfast. He had never made food before, outside of the occasional beans or game that Raheed had heated over an open fire. When cooking with a proper stove and utensils, cooking seemed far more complicated. Especially when all Asan wanted to do was eat what he prepared. Whenever his fingers began to drift toward his mouth, Bhada lightly slapped his hand and shook his head. Sometimes it was frustrating to work with the old servant because he moved so slowly, and Asan just wanted to do everything so that it would be done quicker. But Bhada was patient with him, so Asan decided he should be patient for Bhada.

            Serving breakfast was more of a challenge than making it. Asan didn’t mind work, even if it was new or hard. What he didn’t like was _deferrence_. He had begged for food, perhaps, but he bowed to no one. Not only was he required to bow, but there seemed to be a long list of rules that couldn’t be explained to him without Raheed around. If he offended Elder Hassad, would he be thrown out? Raheed spoke so highly of the cleric, but the old man did not seem very kind to Asan. In fact, he had only looked at Asan with suspicion. He had already accused Asan of being a thief.  Why should Asan bow to someone like that? He didn’t care that the man was old or wise. In his experience, the old and wise were no less cruel than the young and stupid.

            Elder Hassad took his breakfast in the room he and Raheed had first spoken, which looked much brighter now that the sun had risen. While the house seemed old, it had some intricately carved script and moulding along its windows and thresholds, much of it in the shape that Asan recognized from the palace walls. He wondered what the script said.

            Elder Hassad was dressed in a long dark robe, his head covered by a white turban, half of his face hidden in the depths of his long gray beard. When Asan and Bhada entered the room, he looked up from the scroll he was reading and spoke, though Asan didn’t know what he said.

            Bhada nodded and replied. Asan watched as Bhada slowly lowered himself to his knees at Elder Hassad’s side and served him from this position, his shoulders hunched around his bent neck. Asan thought it wrong to ask Bhada to assume such a position at his age. He wished he could take the tray from Bhada and do it instead, but he didn’t know how to ask such a thing.

           

* * *

 

            “Well, how is he so far?”

            Bhada looked up from pouring Elder Hassad’s tea. “He is quiet.”

            “That makes me _more_ anxious. It’s the quiet ones who plot.”

            Bhada chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think he is plotting, Master Hassad, though he always looks quite thoughtful.”

            “Yes, I can see that.” Elder Hassad looked over Bhada’s bent head to Asan, who lingered by the doorway like a frightened child. Elder Hassad lifted a finger and crooked it, motioning Asan forward. Luckily Asan understood and did as he was asked, though he moved tentatively. When he was a stride or two away, Elder Hassad made a “down” gesture, which Asan understood as well. He lowered himself to his knees behind Bhada.

            “You carrying that plate for decoration or are you going to give me some of it?” Elder Hassad asked, gesturing toward the plate Asan carried. He was pleased when Asan immediately slid the plate forward, placing it before Elder Hassad’s folded legs.

            “Ah. There you go. Not so hard, is it?” Elder Hassad grabbed a piece of bread and dipped it into the oil. “At least he’s not an deaf _simpleton_.” He observed Asan’s withdrawn expression. “He does not look happy to be here, does he, Bhada?”

            “No, Master Hassad, I think he looks rather dour.”

            “I suppose he’d rather be on the streets, hmm? Pah.” Elder Hassad waved a hand. “Best get me the rest of what you’ve made. Asan can bring it out on his own this time. He’s got young legs; make him walk.”

            Bhada nodded and then pulled Asan from the room.

            When Asan returned the second time, he failed to bow and his crouch was sloppy at best. Elder Hassad watched Asan’s movements with a shrewd eye. Luckily Elder Hassad wasn’t one for formalities, but he did appreciate common courtesy, and it’d be best for Asan to learn it now before someone much stricter dealt with him.

            “This will never do.” Elder Hassad’s hand reached out to seize the collar of Asan’s tunic, which made Asan jolt and nearly drop his plate. He lifted a hand as if to bat Elder Hassad away, but luckily he stopped himself in time. “Can’t you dress yourself, boy? Your hair is a mess, and I don’t think you’ve washed your face since you arrived.”

            Asan stared at him, his eyes briefly falling to Elder Hassad’s mouth. Raheed had mentioned Asan could read some lips, but clearly not at the level needed for proper communication. Besides, any lips he _could_ read would be in Aillab, not the form of Aillic spoken at Ayllamal.

            “How do you say ‘face’?” Elder Hassad asked, patting Asan’s cheek firmly. Taken aback, Asan was slow to answer. Finally he framed his face with one hand, as the other still clutched a plate.

            “Ah. Yes. _Face._ Look at my lips as I say it. You’ll go much further when you can understand those who can’t speak your language.”

            Asan nodded, looking both confused and thoughtful.

            “When you show yourself to me or others, you are to look presentable. Bhada will show you where to bathe, and I’m sure he can lend you a few of his tunics until you can get something of better fit.” Elder Hassad tugged again at Asan’s collar before withdrawing. “Furthermore, I’m not much convinced by your bowing. It needs work. I’m not easily offended, but there will be other men who are, and they have no qualms about striking a servant they find out of line.”

            Asan looked totally lost now, and his frustration was clear in his face. Elder Hassad sighed, wondering if they would ever reach a point at which they could talk. He knew that they would have to sit down and have proper lessons, but that required time in which Asan was not working. And since Bhada was too old these days to get much done, Elder Hassad could think of so many things Asan could do more fruitful than learning a how to read lips.

            “Bowing,” Elder Hassad repeated, bending at the waist. Asan nodded, then made a vague gesture with his free hand. Elder Hassad wondered what it meant.

            Elder Hassad cleared his throat. “Well then. There’s much to do, and I’m sure you’ll want to eat your own breakfast. Go. We will speak later when Raheed is present.”

            Asan lowered his head in acquiescence before standing and rushing out of the room. Elder Hassad sighed heavily and dipped his bread into the small bowl of goat cheese. God’s work was never done.

 

* * *

 

            Raheed spent most of the day at what many men called “the barracks”, though of course it was far more glamorous than that. A more accurate name would be “fortress”, though such a name was perhaps too dramatic for military sensibilities. Raheed was glad to find that the building hadn’t really changed since he left—only the faces. Some of the younger boys lived here and trained here, while the older ones favored finding their own housing, paid for and provided by the empire. No matter where you decided to sleep and keep your meager belongings, it had always been cramped. You learned to like your comrades or hate them, and you did either with the passion expected of brothers. It hurt to see this place without his friends at his side; Raheed hadn’t felt this small in the shadow of the main gate since he was a little boy.

            Elder Hassad must have sent word quickly, because when Raheed found his way to the third floor where officers were usually housed, General Mamid was waiting for him.

            “It is good to see that you’ve made it,” General Mamid said as Raheed bowed, then saluted. “I thought it would be quite cruel if you survived a battle with Hahnars only to be gutted by a common thief.”

            “We didn’t experience much trouble on the way, sir.”

            “We. Ah. Yes. That deaf boy of yours. You found him then?”

            “Yes, sir. He is hoping to become Elder Hassad’s new servant.”

            “I don’t know how you convinced the old man to take him. I’ve been telling him for years that he needs someone a bit quicker on their feet than old Bhada. He has always resisted.”

            “I think Asan appeals to his curiosity, sir. Elder Hassad likes a challenge, and I think Asan presents that.” 

            “Well, let’s hope he can do something with him. You have to keep boys busy or else they get into trouble.”

            Raheed nodded. “Asan will have some difficulty adjusting to a . . . servantile lifestyle, but then again, so did I.” Raheed shrugged with a smile. “You get used to it.”

            “Hmm. Well, maybe it’ll keep Elder Hassad busy. He keeps finding excuses to come here to interact with the boys. Not that we don’t appreciate his presence, as he’s been an esteemed member of our organization for decades, but he’s supposed to be retired. He shouldn’t be traipsing the city with those old bones of his.”

            Raheed nodded again.

            “Anyway, I am busy today, but I wanted to speak with you about a promotion.”

            Raheed gaped for a second, though perhaps he was stupid in not even considering the possibility. He had spent months alone with the general, and to his great surprise, the general seemed to be fond of him. At least, as fond as a cold man like the general could be.

            “Sir, I—”  
            “I have seen you fight and I’ve seen you think on your feet. These are necessary traits in any officer, and I’m sad to say that there are many who don’t show quite the aptitude you do. It would be a shame if you continued to be a common foot soldier. Elder Hassad certainly had glowing things to say about you.”

            Raheed felt himself grow hot, feeling like a fool for blushing. Compliments from Elder Hassad were very few and far between, but because of this they carried so much more weight.

            “I don’t know what to say, sir,” Raheed blurted. “Thank you.”

            “How would you feel about becoming a lieutenant?”

            “I—well, that’s—I would be so honored—” Raheed couldn’t exactly express both his confusion and joy over the promotion, so he just stumbled for words like a shy toddler until the general held up a hand to silence him.

            “A _thank you_ would suffice, Lieutenant.”

            Raheed couldn’t stop the huge smile that split his face. “Yes. Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. It would be an honor.”

            General Mamid nodded slightly. Raheed could detect an uptick in the corner of his mouth, but maybe he was only seeing things. It was hard to tell through the general’s beard anyway.

            “Good. Tomorrow you will report to the third courtyard for further instructions. Am I clear?”

            “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

            General Mamid held a fist over his heart in a casual salute before walking away, his long red cloak swaying behind him.

            Raheed clenched his hands into fists at his sides, holding back the grin that wanted to burst forth. Promotion in the Mulli military wasn’t easy, especially for a _bhanak_. Usually only Mulli soldiers could climb the ranks, at least to lieutenant status. There were plenty of _bhanak_ corporals and sergeants, but to be an officer was such a great honor. He felt as if he didn’t really deserve it, but it wasn’t his decision. An officer status brought many good things—higher pay, more freedom, less sleeping in crowded tents with three dozen other foot soldiers. And he would be allowed a horse. He wouldn’t be able to afford the sort of steeds the general and his ilk rode, but he could at least purchase a modest gelding, something dependable if not fast.

            Trying to look as dignified as possible, Raheed returned to the staircase, which would take him to the training yards he hadn’t visited in years.

 

* * *

 

            Raheed returned late for dinner, but the food was still warm when he arrived. He knew it was rude to miss a meal, but maybe Elder Hassad would forgive him this one time. After all, they hadn’t seen each other in years, and Raheed wasn’t an ignorant boy any longer.

            Elder Hassad was still seated when Raheed stepped into the room and sat across the squat table from his mentor. Elder Hassad gave him a rather displeased look but returned to his custard.

            “You are late,” he said, smacking his lips.

            “I’m sorry. I was held past dusk.”

            Elder Hassad made a sound of disapproval in his throat before continuing to eat. Raheed tapped his knees for a moment before blurting, “I was promoted, Elder.”

            Elder Hassad only lifted his eyebrows. “Is that so? To what? Corporal?”

            “Lieutenant, Elder.”

            At this, Elder Hassad turned to him, looking mildly impressed. “Is that so?”

            “The general told me himself.”

            “Well, that’s quite a thing he has done for you then.” Elder Hassad waved a hand at the bowls of food in the center of the table. “You better eat before this goes cold.”

            Raheed nodded and grabbed a basket of pita bread. He used a piece to scoop up some hummus, then crammed it all into his mouth. He’d forgotten how hungry he was.

            “I see your table manners have suffered.”

            “I’m sowwy, Eldeh,” Raheed said through a full mouth.

            Elder Hassad rolled his eyes. “I can see that. Are you going to be staying here or at the barracks?”

            “If you’ll have me, I’d like to stay here.” Raheed chuckled. “The food’s better.”

            “That it is. Bhada has always been very proficient in the kitchen.”

            “Where is Asan?”

            “Helping clean up, I suppose.”

            “Has he been . . . okay?”

            “I imagine. I’ve only seen him twice all day. Bhada’s kept him busy.”

            Raheed nodded. “That’s good.”

            “I will need to speak with him, and I can’t do that without you. After dinner we are to have a meeting.”

            “Yes, Elder.”

            After Raheed shoved as much into his mouth as he could muster, he took the last bit of custard with him as he followed Elder Hassad to his study. Half of the floor was covered in cushions and blankets, the other half in scrolls, charts, and books. Clearly this was a room that Bhada was not allowed much jurisdiction over. Raheed had to chuckle a little, considering Elder Hassad was so strict about his students being neat and orderly.

            Asan arrived shortly after Raheed and Elder Hassad had gotten situated, trailed by Bhada. Bhada briefly shuffled around Asan to present him.

            “Is now a good time, Master Hassad?”

            “Now is a perfect time. Leave him here for us if you will.”

            Bhada bowed, then left the room. Asan’s eyes trailed after him for a moment, then flitted uncertainly to Elder Hassad.

            “Sit, boy.”

            Asan understood Elder Hassad’s gesture and sank to a crouch where he stood, near the door.

            “Not all the way over there, for God’s sake. Closer, closer.”

            Asan crawled over, eyes finding Raheed. Raheed gave him a comforting smile, but it was clear that Asan was not nearly as confident as he’d been before. Raheed had expected such, since any new environment would make one a little meek.

            “There. Good. Now. Raheed, you will be the mediator. I will watch what you say with your hands. Perhaps you can teach me a few of the common gestures. And I want you to speak with your mouth as you speak with your hands, in Aillic. He needs to learn how to read lips.”

            “Of course, Elder.”

            “Very well then. Asan, how has your first day been?” Elder Hassad asked as Raheed translated. Asan’s shoulders sagged slightly, his face brightening as he watched Raheed’s gesture. Asan always grew frustrated when he couldn’t understand, so he looked relieved when Raheed used signs he could comprehend.

            “Okay,” Raheed told Elder Hassad after Asan replied.

            “Okay?”

            Raheed shrugged. “Asan is not used to this work.”

            “Huh.” Elder Hassad shifted on his cushion. “Well, he’s going to get used to it. Has he been able to understand Bhada?”

            _Well enough_ , Asan replied after Raheed translated. _It is hard sometimes, but Bhada is patient and is willing to show me things._

            “It is good that you get along with Bhada. Bhada is a good servant and a kind man. He is not like many servants you will find. Many of them steal or lie about. You will do none of this, correct?”

            Asan shook his head.

            “Of course you won’t. Because I trust Raheed, I trust you. Anyway, you will have to concentrate very hard on the words Bhada and I say to you. It is necessary for you to read lips. In exchange, Bhada and I will learn all we can from Raheed about this . . . language you and Raheed share. It looks rather complex, far less elementary than I’d assumed.”

            _We don’t have words for everything, but we have words for many things._

“And you seem rather confident in this language, do you not?” Elder Hassad turned to Raheed. “His hands move very quickly.”

            “Fast talker,” Raheed replied with a grin.

            Elder Hassad’s gaze returned to Asan. “You have not been well-fed nor well-disciplined. You are much too thin for a boy your age, and I shall seek to remedy that. Small, weak servants do no one any good. So you must eat all that Bhada asks you to eat.”

            _I like to eat. Bhada has told me I eat too much_.

            At this, a small smile touched Elder Hassad’s lips. “Well, then, I see nothing wrong with that. Something wrong with a boy who doesn’t eat. Once you start eating, you can start growing bigger, and a strong servant is what an old man like me needs. Bhada and I have gone too long without being able to do much. I don’t think I can even mount a camel any longer without help . . . you will have to help me with this, yes?”

            Asan nodded vigorously.

            “How was it that you and Asan even came to learn how to talk to one another?” Elder Hassad asked Raheed.

            “Through drawings. Asan’s rather adroit at art, from what I’ve been able to see.”

            “Is that so? Hmm. Perhaps I will teach him to write as well, considering that would make communication with others easier.”

            Raheed glanced at Asan, who was already pouting over being left out of the conversation. Without speaking, Raheed signed, _I’m telling you that you are good at drawing_.

            Asan nodded.

            “What did you say?” Elder Hassad asked, and Raheed had to keep himself from sighing in frustration. He didn’t much enjoy being the mediator in this conversation. It was making it hard to focus what language he was speaking with whom.

            “I just told him that I called him a good artist. But you’d really teach him how to write? I didn’t think it was appropriate for servants to learn that craft.”

            Elder Hassad waved a hand dismissively. “What others don’t know won’t hurt them. It’s a special circumstance, considering he is limited in the number of ways he can speak with others. It will be a ways off, but it is something to look forward to in the future. He’s an older boy, so it will probably take him longer than it took you to learn, but he’ll manage.”

            “Elder Hassad wants to teach you how to read,” Raheed said to Asan with a smile.

            Asan looked ambiguous about the prospect, but he nodded and signed _thank you_ at Elder Hassad, which Raheed translated.

            “I can barely read anymore with these old eyes,” Elder Hassad continued. “Bhada has never had any desire to learn, so it would be an important skill.”

            After deliberating over what Asan would learn, they began the basics of Asan’s language. Asan would make a gesture, Raheed would translate, and Elder Hassad would mimic it while also saying the word aloud, allowing Asan to watch his lips as he formed the word. They did this for about an hour until the night grew dark and the sound of rolling wagons and laughing children eventually faded, leaving only the occasional bray of a donkey in the distance.

            “It’s time to take these bones to bed,” Elder Hassad said as he began to stand. Raheed rushed forward and assisted him, letting his mentor lean heavily against him until he was at a stand. Giving Raheed’s arm a thank you pat, he shuffled forward, gesturing Asan to stand. Asan did so, but he kept his gaze down. Elder Hassad asked nothing of him, only continued until he reached the veranda and vanished around a corner.

            _Did I do alright?_ Asan asked.

            Raheed nodded. _You were fine._

_He seemed frustrated._

Raheed shrugged. _Sometimes teaching him new things is difficult. But he enjoys it, even if he doesn’t act like it._

_He seems very . . ._  Asan took his fingers and drew them down from the corners of his mouth, which Raheed took to mean _stern_.

            _Yes, but he is fair and a good mentor. Give it a few weeks and he will like you very much, I know it_.

            Asan didn’t seem to believe Raheed, but he nodded anyway. Raheed strode forward to put a hand on Asan’s shoulder, and Asan leaned into the contact, his eyes flickering up to meet Raheed’s. There was admiration there, most of which Raheed felt that he hadn’t earned.

            _You will feel better tomorrow_ , Raheed said. _It is hard to adjust to new places, but you will do fine._

Suddenly Asan’s arms were around him and his face was pressed firmly against Raheed’s chest. Raheed tensed for a moment, which he found odd, considering he had embraced his friends all the time. When had he become so unaccustomed to it? It made him a tad uncomfortable now, as if a servant’s hug was somehow different than one provided by a comrade. In the desert, alone with only Asan and a camel, it hadn’t really mattered. But things were different now.

            “Asan.” Raheed gently pried Asan from him, trying to look both kind and serious at once. _Bhada will be looking for you_ , he signed.

            Asan stared at Raheed a moment, his eyes wide and confused in a way that made Raheed feel horribly guilty. But then he looked away and nodded, releasing Raheed and stepping backward. Nodding at him one last time, Raheed slipped past Asan, headed for the extra rooms upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the last two chapters have been a bit . . . filler-y. But Elder Hassad is an important character, so it's necessary. :/


	14. The Southern Docks

 

            Asan was up before the sun the next morning, helping Bhada prepare breakfast. However, after fumbling with and breaking two eggs, Bhada chased him out and pointed toward the small shed behind the house where the camel was being kept. Asan bowed several times in apology and headed for the camel as quickly as he could manage as to not provoke more of Bhada’s ire.

            The camel looked happy to see Asan, and Asan was happy to see him. He spent a few moments simply cradling the camel’s head in his arms, lowering his face to press his nose into the camel’s thick fur. The world seemed to stop spinning for once.

            The camel’s head jerked out of his arm, and Asan turned to see the source of its surprise. For a moment, he wondered if Raheed had followed him, but Raheed didn’t even seem to realize he was there, moving instead to the well where Asan drew water. There was a strained expression on his face, as if he’d just seen something terrible.

            Asan ducked low, closer to the camel, thinking that perhaps it would be best if Raheed did not see him. To his shock, Raheed pulled off the sweaty shirt he must have worn to bed and tossed it to the ground. It had been a cool night; Asan didn’t know why it would be soaked through.

            Raheed drew up a bucket of water and used the ladle inside to pour several spoonfuls over his head. After leaning over the well for a few moments, he drew himself to a complete stand, pushing his damp hair away from his face, the water running down his neck and in between his shoulder blades.

            Asan gaped at him, transfixed. Touched by the morning light, Raheed looked . . . well, he looked _majestic_. And Asan was suddenly swallowed by a wave of heat and longing that until now had been mostly restrained. Certainly Asan had had wayward thoughts during those dark nights in the desert, and since the onset of what he figured was manhood, dreams sometimes brought a strain to his loins that he worked passionately to hide from others. Up until now, he’d known that something wasn’t quite right, but this was the first time he smashed into a wall with such a realization. Because right now, he wanted to touch Raheed so fiercely that it was all he could do to keep from sprinting to Raheed’s side and tossing himself against him. Raheed was more than _handsome_. Raheed was _perfection_.

            Suddenly Raheed turned and saw Asan peering over the side of the camel. Asan panicked, certain that Raheed could see every lewd thought that crossed his mind. But Raheed only nodded, grabbed his shirt from off the ground, and headed back into the house.

            Asan sank down to a sit beside the camel, clenching his knees together in hopes that it might quell the rigid heat between his legs. Tears pricked his eyes, but he held them back. He wasn’t sure if this was _wrong_ , but he knew it wasn’t right. It didn’t make any sense, because of all his dreams, both at night and during the day, none of them had ever included a woman. Asan hadn’t seen many women in his life, but that shouldn’t matter. After all, Raheed rarely saw women, and yet he spoke very highly of _them_.

            After a few tense minutes of terror and uncertainty, Asan pulled himself to a stand and grabbed a nearby pitchfork to clean up the droppings the camel had left. They would be dried later and used on the hearth in the kitchen. He threw himself into his work, working faster and harder than he had ever before. And when he arrived in the kitchen, Bhada seemed pleased by Asan’s sweaty, flushed state. After Asan cleaned up, Bhada gave Asan an ewer and pointed toward the dining area where Elder Hassad was already seated. Luckily, Asan did not see Raheed with him.

            Facing Raheed now would be torture.

 

* * *

 

            Raheed arrived at the barracks after breakfast, even though General Mamid was nowhere to be found. For a while he spoke with other officers, elucidating upon what had happened with the fight against the Hahnars. Then a superior officer arrived and instructed that they all train for a few hours, so Raheed drilled with the others until they took a late lunch in the cafeteria. He’d never thought he’d be eating in the officers’ section. Of course he was still the lowest rank among them, but it was definitely different than it had been when eating with the enlisted ranks. There was less comradery here, though the discussions weren’t so facile. Some of them spoke of politics and battle strategy, which excited Raheed’s intellectual side. Most of his friends had never been interested in more than women and wine.

              It was a long day, though Raheed preferred it to the boredom of sitting around in a tent in the sweltering heat. Just the scent of the nearby sea calmed him, clarified his mind. If he’d forgotten why he loved Ayllamal, he remembered it now. He had begun to lose faith in his nation and empire, but Ayllamal returned him to that youthful optimism.

            General Mamid found Raheed just as Raheed was preparing to leave. Raheed was a bit surprised to find that he wasn’t wearing his usual uniform, but instead civilian robes. Raheed had expected them to be the finery that the general’s position demanded, but Raheed was perhaps foolish to think so. General Mamid had never been caught up in the fanfare of his status. He spoke vulgar like a foot soldier sometimes, and that was perhaps why men trusted him.

            “I brought you something,” General Mamid said, then held out a pouch. When Raheed took it, he was shocked by its weight and sound.

            “What is—”

            “ _Immas_. A lieutenant makes more than the pittance any foot soldier is awarded, and besides, I do still owe you for saving my life several times back there in Hahnar territory.”

            Raheed was struck speechless for a moment, then blurted, “Sir, my promotion is more than enough—”   

            General Mamid raised a hand to silence him. “No. Don’t argue with me. You take that and put it to good use. I was actually planning on going down to the southern docks tonight, but I’ve been lacking a companion. I hate most of the officers here, though you’ll never hear me say that. It’s all about licking people’s ass in this place. Either way, you’re one of the few people I can stand for more than five minutes, so if you’d like to accompany me, I think we could find a way to spend those _immas_ real fast.”

            Raheed’s mouth felt dry, so he licked his lips. “The southern docks—”

            “Yes.”

            Raheed wasn’t sure what the _yes_ was referring to, so he just nodded. “I would love to accompany you, sir.”

             “Of course, it wouldn’t be right for a man of my status to be seen with a mere lieutenant, so we’ll keep it mostly quiet. A man’s status means nothing down on the docks, just what’s in his pockets. I don’t think anyone will ask questions.”

            Raheed nodded dumbly, and they left the barracks together.

 

* * *

 

            “It’s only my previous accomplishments that saved me,” General Mamid said as they made their way down a narrow street, a “back road” that General Mamid claimed would get them to the southern docks faster. Already the air carried a heavier scent of the sea, and Raheed realized he hadn’t seen it since arriving. He couldn’t wait to stand on the sand and look out across the endless water as he had when he was younger. “No one was very pleased with how things went.”

            “You did all you could, sir.”

            “I told you, Raheed, I don’t need you licking my ass on this one.”

            “I’m not, sir. I just don’t see how anyone could have saved an army from those Hahnars.”

            “A smarter man could have prevented it. He would have kept the army at the gate to the pass.”

            “They still could have attacked us there, sir. What good is a wall if it’s facing the wrong way? There’s a reason the Hahnars have resisted occupations for centuries. They’re a fierce people who fight with fire in their hearts.”

            “Well, the caliph didn’t want to hear _that_. He’s offered me one more chance on the northern front, which I prefer anyway. Less mountains up that way, more scattered enemies. It’s easier to fight peasants with sticks than it is heathens with iron swords. Of course, you’ll be coming with me.”

            “Sir?”

            “We’ll be leaving in three weeks, once the troops are ready.”

            Raheed stopped in shock, then had to run forward to keep up with the general, who kept walking.

            “Sir, did you just say—”

            “Yes.”

            “I’m—sir, I don’t know if I could—”

            “It’s already been cleared by your superiors. There will be other officers as well—it’s a big army—but I’ve convinced them to put you on my advisory board.”

            “I don’t know much about battles, sir. I’ve only fought one.”

            “It’s not all about battles, especially when you fight factions in the north. No, it’s about keeping your men alive, and you’ve proven yourself very adept at that. Most of the men on my advisory board fight for politics, as they’re all Mulli. I know you fight for the lives of your fellow men, which is exactly the sort of person I need to advise me.”

            “But—sir, I just don’t think—”  
            General Mamid finally paused and turned to Raheed. “I’m not paying you compliments, I’m being frank. You’ll accept graciously and that’s all, Raheed.”

            Raheed felt heat in his cheeks as he nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. It is a great honor.”

            General Mamid nodded and they continued to walk in silence.

 

* * *

 

            Raheed had never been to the southern docks, but he’d heard stories. He began to realize that the stories hadn’t quite captured the essence of the southern docks, probably because they were just beyond words.

            Like many of the buildings built near the water (and the much desired trade it brought), most of the structures were tall and regal, constructed and commissioned by the wealthy merchants who owned ships and the docks that housed them. The caliph himself owned a beach house nearby, though probably not in the southern docks, as that would be seen as obscene. Wherever wealthy men dwelled, there were whores to accommodate them. And that was how the southern docks had been established, though they’d nearly tripled in size since the creation of the _bhanak_ army. With so many men who could not marry, prostitutes were provided an enormous group of clientele with some expendable income. Of course, whores had to pay the extraordinary tax to live and work in a place so profitable, but they still made more than any whore anywhere else in the empire. With such competition, a man was guaranteed to find some of the most exquisite female flesh along these docks, and Raheed was beginning to see that within only moments of entering the neighborhood.

            Outside of the market and the occasional back street, women were a rare sight in the city. Most of them stayed inside, taking care of the house and their children. The southern docks was very different; women were _everywhere_ , and many of them didn’t so much as wear a scarf to cover their hair. In fact, Raheed passed several women standing in doorways who had abdomens and shoulders exposed, an advertisement for the services given within. Raheed had been with several whores by this point, but the sight of their skin still made his flesh prickle with anticipation. He felt like a starving child provided several baskets of fresh food. He didn’t know where to go or what to do with himself, and he was tempted to go to the first woman he saw. General Mamid found his excitement amusing.

            “Patience, Raheed. Where I’m taking you, all of these women will look like dogs.”

            “I can’t even imagine . . .”

            The streets grew narrower, making it hard to walk without pushing through bodies. Raheed was shocked by the number of children he found running about the streets, many of them naked and grinning. He considered asking General Mamid about them, but decided not to, since he’d have to shout to be heard over the din.

            Through several twisting streets, they finally came upon a beautiful white building framed by squat minarets. The doorway was wide enough to accommodate several horses abreast and bordered by mosaics of twirling vines and elegant script. Through latticed windows, Raheed could see a courtyard and trees, lit by torches. In the center was what looked like a fountain. Raheed’s gut squirmed in anticipation.

            General Mamid knocked on the heavy wooden door. A large man with bulging arms answered, though he took no more than one look at General Mamid before allowing him through. Raheed followed General Mamid into the small courtyard, in which some muted laughter and music could be heard. General Mamid waved Raheed forward, walking past the veranda into a narrow corridor before moving into a much bigger room that looked out onto another courtyard, this one larger and better lit. Raheed couldn’t help but crane back his head and look at the muqarnas ceiling, rendered in the spectacular detail that one only saw in fine temples.

            Around the room sat several men on cushions, smoking hookah and speaking softly as they admired the women who wandered about the area, providing food, drink, and tobacco refills. Raheed couldn’t help but gape when he saw a woman step into the fountain and immediately begin to douse herself, cupping water in her hands before letting it dribble down along her neck, shoulders and breasts. There might have been music playing in time with her dancing figure, but most of it had been drowned out by the pumping of Raheed’s own blood.

            General Mamid elbowed him with a grin.  “I told you it got better, didn’t I?”   Raheed could only manage a grunt of acquiescence. General Mamid waved at a nearby woman, this one wearing sheer trousers and a tasseled bodice that exposed her navel. She nodded and directed them to an empty cushion near the edge of the room, close to the writhing woman in the fountain.

            “All these women? They’re all . . . they’re all . . .?”

            “For sale?” General Mamid murmured as he reached to grab an olive from the bowl on the squat table in front of them. “For the right price. Best not ogle that girl in the fountain for too long. She’s way beyond anything you can afford.”

            “She’s—she’s _beautiful_.”

            General Mamid chuckled and leaned back against the cushions. “They’re _all_ beautiful here, Raheed. You get what you pay for.”

            “Can I afford any of them?”

            “Maybe. You might have to haggle a bit, but a girl having a slow night will probably take you with what I gave you.”

            Raheed’s eyes bulged as he clutched the pouch General Mamid had given him. “ _All_ of this?”

            General Mamid nodded.

            “I could buy a _horse_ with this.”

            “Yeah, but it wouldn’t be so pretty now, would it?” General Mamid chuckled again and shook his head. “There will always be time for horses, Raheed. You can buy one for yourself once we leave Ayllamal, as it’ll be cheaper. But a woman like that . . . well, that’s one thing you won’t find up north.”

            For an hour or so, Raheed and the general smoked, watching the server girls as well as the woman in the fountain, though she left after twenty minutes when one of the server girls whispered in her ear. It seemed that she’d gotten herself a customer.

            “This place is huge. Sometimes I just like to wander around and see what kind of woman I find.”

            “You mean there’s more than just these girls, sir?”

            “Of course! They have everything a man could want. Short, tall, fat, skinny. Why don’t you wander around the gardens for a bit? Sometimes you’ll find a woman there, and in private it’s easier to haggle ‘em down.” When Raheed moved to stand, General Mamid caught his arm. “They may even have an old whore for you.”

            Raheed sighed as General Mamid laughed and released him. Clearly he was more relaxed in this place than anywhere else, and Raheed felt honored that he was the one here to see it. It made Raheed feel as if the general truly trusted him. It was not an honor he took lightly.

            Raheed feared that he might get lost, but getting lost in a house full of beautiful women wasn’t something to be worried about. So he wandered through hallways and circled verandas, sometimes sitting down beside pools of water and trailing his fingers along the surface. A few women did walk past him, and they always cast him an admiring glance, as if waiting for his business. All of his anticipation from before had begun to drain, probably due to the calming nature of the gardens. Now that he was among the best, he wanted to take his time, savor the moment, pick someone he truly wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else. He didn’t want a girl like his first one, that was for sure.

            It was just when Raheed had entered yet another veranda when he saw her.

            She was leaning against a railing, her hair falling down over her shoulder and her breasts barely contained by the embroidery of her bodice. A man stood beside her, but he had no beard, so he must have been a servant. They were speaking in low voices, though the woman would occasionally laugh. In her position, her hair fluttered into her mouth, forcing her to lift a hand and pull it out. Something about the gesture was endearing, human. It didn’t hurt that she was painfully beautiful, more so than the woman in the fountain, which Raheed had thought impossible. Her eyebrows were thick and expressive, her lips curved perfectly around a mouth blessed by God. Her skin was a shade darker than what a manuscript might laud, but from where he stood, he could tell it was smooth and rich, a color complimented by the deep red of her bodice and loose trousers. Around both her ankles and wrists glittered exquisite jewelry, something Raheed suspected was purchased for her by admirers.

            She was not the first to see him. The man at her side tapped her shoulder and pointed, and she looked up, her eyes meeting his across the courtyard. There was a tangible _spark_ within Raheed, something that gave him the bravery to cross the courtyard and speak to her in a voice that didn’t even waver with uncertainty.

            “Can I ask for your name?” he asked without even thinking. It was perhaps a stupid question, but he was too enamored to come up with an original introduction.

            She straightened, one corner of her mouth lifted in a half-smile. The man at her side just snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and looking on in amusement. He was dressed oddly for a servant, especially since he was lacking a shirt. But Raheed barely spent any time looking at him.

            “Why should I give you my name?” she asked him, lifting an eyebrow. No woman had ever faced him in such a brazen manner, and it made him fumble for a moment. Luckily the moment did not last long.

            “It would be a courteous thing to do.”

            “Oh really? What’s your name then?”

            “Raheed,” Raheed blurted much too quickly. “My name is Raheed.”

            “Hmmm.” She gave him a slow once-over, which made him feel both embarrassed and incredibly aroused at once. “What will you pay me to know my name?”

            “Uh, well.” Raheed looked down at the pouch shoved under his belt. “I have a hundred _immas_.”

            She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “I am sorry, Raheed, but to have me would cost you much more than that.”

            “More than a hundred?”

            She lifted two fingers, and he frowned.

            “Seems a little steep,” he replied.

            “Well.” She clucked her tongue again, her eyes roaming his form. “For you, I could do a hundred and twenty.”

            “But I don’t have a hundred and twenty.” Raheed’s voice sounded pathetic even by his own standards.

            She shrugged. “What more can I do?”

            “At least tell me your name. That way I can find you when I _do_ have a hundred and twenty.”

            “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.” She moved forward and around him, her friend by her side.

            In his frustration, he called after her, “Just your name, that’s all I want!”

            She walked two more steps before stopping and turning to face him. He wanted to follow her, to touch her, to kiss those lips and to have them kiss his. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted someone so much in his whole life.

            The woman looked at her friend, who shrugged. Finally she smiled—a smile that could bring a cactus to bloom—and said, “Malli. My name is Malli.”

            Helplessly, he watched her turn and leave, friend in tow. To turn down a hundred _immas_ , she would have to be rather certain she could easily earn it somewhere else. The thought of her taking an old wealthy merchant over him made him both angry and despondent.

            With a sigh of defeat, Raheed felt a sudden desire to return home. Clearly his haggling skills were subpar. If he couldn’t have Malli, he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone else.

            As he tried to find his way back to the street, he practically collided with a rather tiny girl, though her endowments made her more woman than girl. He nearly apologized and continued on his way, but she had a hand on his arm before he could return to his course.

            “Hel _lo_ , handsome,” she purred. And then, like some sort of magic, another girl appeared, this one identical to her in every way. For a second he was certain he was going crazy, but then he realized that while he’d never seen an identical twin, he’d read about them.  

            “My sister and I are lonely,” the original woman said with a pout. She wasn’t nearly on Malli’s level of beauty, but she was more than Jhali had probably ever dreamed of. And the prospect of being with two beautiful women at once was certainly tempting.

            “Want to keep us company?” the twin asked with a seductive flutter of her eyelashes.

            Raheed laughed softly and shook his head. “I was just leaving, actually.”

            “But we could have so much _fun_ together.” At this, the original woman reached out and tugged at the pouch tucked into his belt. “It’s been a while since we’ve had someone so _handsome_ come our way.”

            “Oh, _Seisa_ , look at these _arms_ of his.” The twin rushed up to Raheed’s side and pinched his arms through his sleeves. “I bet you’re so strong.”

            “You ladies can cut the crap. Really.”

            The twins laughed, but they both remained pressed against him, fluttering their thick eyelashes. With a sigh, Raheed reached into his belt.

            “I’ve only got a hundred,” he said.

            The twins looked at each other, their faces changing in minute ways that might have been some sort of silent communication. Finally their smiles returned and they plucked the pouch from his hand.

            “A hundred will do,” Seisa said as her twin wrapped both of her arms around his. “Now come with us. You can show us how _strong_ you really are.”

 

* * *

 

            Asan woke when Bhada shook him. Asan sat up and glanced out his small window, but he saw no dawn on the horizon. What time was it?

            Bhada spoke and gestured that Asan should follow him. So Asan trailed the old servant across the courtyard and through the front door, where there was a dark figure leaning against the gate. There was just enough light to see the top of the man’s head; the rest was obscured by shadow. But Asan knew Raheed well enough to recognize the messy curls. He wanted to ask why Bhada had brought him out here, but Bhada had already gone to Raheed. When Raheed stumbled forward, Asan understood. He rushed forward to take Raheed’s weight from Bhada, shocked to find that Raheed smelled strongly of wine. At least Raheed wasn’t sick or injured like Asan had feared, but Asan wasn’t much pleased with this state either.

            Asan waved Bhada back into the house, so Bhada left Asan and Raheed alone. Asan tried to walk forward, but Raheed’s weight was substantial and made it difficult to move. Stubbornly, Asan took a handful of Raheed’s clothes and tugged him toward the house.

            Somehow they were able to get Raheed into the house and up the stairs to his bedroom. As Raheed collapsed onto his bedding, Asan dug for the flint in his pocket and lit the lamp hanging from the wall. For the first time, Asan could see Raheed’s state of disarray.

            “I’m thirsty,” Raheed said while signing sloppily. “Can you get me something to drink?”      

            _You’ve had enough to drink,_ Asan replied angrily.

            Raheed chuckled, his head dropping back onto his pillow. As he bared his throat, Asan spotted several bruises on his neck. Had someone choked him? Raheed looked far too happy if that was the case.

            “Water this time. Please.”

            Asan considered saying _no_ , but decided he needed a few moments to tamp down his irritation. So he went downstairs and grabbed a pitcher to fill with water. After filling it from the well, he went back upstairs and knelt at Raheed’s side, helping him sit up and drink from it. He didn’t just reek of wine, but also sweat and something sweet, like perfume.

            Raheed finally pushed the pitcher back into Asan’s arms and wiped an arm across his mouth.

            _Where were you_? Asan asked.

            “Just somewhere,” Raheed replied with a smile. Asan glared at him before standing and placing the pitcher on the windowsill. When Asan turned to face him, Raheed asked, “Can you help me out of this cloak? It feels so heavy.”

            Asan once again fought the desire to say _no_. He bent at Raheed’s side and carefully unlatched the cloak pinned at Raheed’s shoulders, taking great care not to let the contact last too long. Raheed was saying something, but Asan couldn’t understand him. Even when he smelled revolting, Asan wanted to touch him, wanted to run his fingers through the hair that someone had clearly just run their fingers through. Something ugly crawled up his throat, and after a moment, Asan realized it was jealousy. Asan had been jealous before, but it was always about food and shelter, never about a person. He hated himself for feeling this way and he hated Raheed even more.

            Once Asan pulled the cloak from his shoulders, Raheed collapsed and put an arm over his forehead. Asan waited for him to say something else, but it soon became apparent that Raheed had fallen asleep.

            Asan sat there staring at Raheed’s slumbering form for several minutes before slowly and carefully reaching forward to re-adjust a wayward curl. Just the brief contact of his fingers across Raheed’s forehead jolted him as if he’d been shoved. So Asan pushed himself away, blew out the flame on the lamp, and returned to his bedroom downstairs. He knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight, but he’d be up in a few hours anyway. There really wasn’t a point.


	15. Departure

 

            The next morning, Asan ignored Raheed as best as he could manage, but he quickly realized it wasn’t going to work, since Raheed didn’t even seem to notice. He was distracted by something, speaking to Elder Hassad over breakfast without so much as lifting his hands—a deliberate attempt to leave Asan out of the conversation.

            Asan hated him.

            Asan didn’t understand himself at the moment, let alone anyone else. He’d always been angry about the world and its general unfairness, but these days rage boiled in his blood constantly. He wanted to hit something or someone, mostly Raheed. They had been so close during their travels and now it was like Asan was that worthless servant that Raheed had promised him he wouldn’t be. Asan didn’t mind the work—he found the physical exertion refreshing and a good outlet for his energy—but he despised how others treated him. And Bhada. He’d gone with Bhada to the market yesterday, and while many smiled and nodded, so many ignored him when he tried to get their attention, some even running into him without bothering to apologize. Most of these people wore finer clothes, which led Asan to believe it was less about manners and more about status. To them, Bhada was just an old servant being put in his place. And that made Asan so furious he could barely contain himself. Bhada wasn’t the most affectionate person, but he’d been kind to Asan so far, and he was elderly, an age so advanced as to require respect.

            Something in Raheed had changed the moment they arrived in this stupid city, and it wasn’t for the best. Now he would smile at Asan as if humoring him, but when it came to important topics, Asan was shut out, left to pick up dirty dishes and exit. To think, Asan had thought them friends.

            Asan was a fool.

            Raheed left quickly after breakfast without so much as a glance at Asan. Asan did his chores with twice the energy as he normally completed them. Bhada even took his arm to slow him down, using his hands to imply that Asan should be careful. Slowly Asan was teaching him a few gestures, and Bhada was not as slow as he portrayed himself to be.

            Lunch was held rather late in the afternoon, so there was a brief lull between chores, especially when Asan completed them at such a quick pace. His curiosity got the best of him, and he wandered about the rooms, looking into each one and taking note of what objects they stored. One had an entire wall of shelves storing some old books and scrolls. Asan tentatively touched a rather thick, dusty volume, then pulled it carefully apart, taking care not to tear the leather laces that kept the heavy parchment pages together. When he opened it, he was astounded at the artistry that greeted him. It was a depiction of an outdoor scene, with a man in a very large turban riding a spotted horse at the base of a tall pink tower. At the top sat a veiled woman. On the opposite page was large, looping scrawl, the handwriting that Asan had seen Raheed scratch into the dirt. His fingers traced the first loops before his eyes wandered back to the picture on the other page. He was certain the man on the horse was a prince and the woman in the tower a princess. When Asan tilted the book, some of the light flickered on the gold leaf embedded in the prince’s tunic and the flowery border around the edge. Asan had never seen anything quite so wonderful.

            Something moved to Asan’s right, and he jumped, dropping the book to the dusty floor. It was Elder Hassad in the doorway, stooped over his cane, watching Asan with an unreadable expression.

            Asan quickly bowed before reaching down to pick up the book, gesturing _sorry_ several times as he did so. At least Elder Hassad knew that sign by now.

            Elder Hassad shuffled forward and held out a gnarled hand. Keeping his head low, Asan handed the book over. Elder Hassad’s eyes flitted over the page Asan had opened to, his features softening. Yet his eyes hardened when he closed it and replaced it on the shelf. He pointed behind him, to the doorway.

            Asan nodded and darted past him. An order was an order, and Asan was supposed to be working, not snooping into Elder Hassad’s possessions. But even work could not purge those beautiful images from his mind, and he thought about what the characters written might have to say about the princess and the prince. He hoped their story was much happier than his.

            He wouldn’t want to read it otherwise.

 

* * *

 

            Raheed returned that night just before dinner, which didn’t seem to please Elder Hassad, but it didn’t seem to irritate him either, so Raheed took whatever he received. He quickly bowed to Elder Hassad before sitting down on his designated cushion.

            “When are you leaving?” Elder Hassad asked suddenly.

            “Hmm?” Raheed asked through a mouthful of bread.

            “I imagine you aren’t going to stay in this city forever.”

            Raheed swallowed loudly. “Three weeks.”

            Elder Hassad nodded. “It will be enough time to get your affairs in order, perhaps teach me a bit more of this language you share with Asan.”

            “Ah. Right.” Raheed reached over to load some hummus onto his bread. “I can do that, Elder.”

            “That is, if you are not otherwise occupied at night.”

            Raheed paused, glancing sheepishly at Elder Hassad. “Elder?”

            “I’m not deaf like your servant, Raheed. I heard you last night, and I can’t say I much approve of it.”

            Raheed frowned as he nibbled at his bread. “You drink wine even when you’re not supposed to.”

            “True. I do not, however, get drunk on it.” When Raheed opened his mouth to object, Elder Hassad lifted a hand. “I’m not going to condemn you for it. I know what goes on in the army, and I know God would not approve of most of it. To resist these temptations would be impossible. I also know that getting inebriated is not nearly the sin that killing another is, and yet you soldiers are trained to do that from as early as five.” Elder Hassad paused to chew his food, then swallowed. “Many of these clerics forget that, but I am both logical and religious, a rare combination. So know that I don’t approve, but you are a grown man and can make your own decisions.”

            Raheed would have preferred to be yelled at, since bearing the weight of Elder Hassad’s disappointment seemed worse. He bowed his head and decided to stay silent instead of making it worse by arguing.

            Just then the curtain behind him was pulled back to reveal Asan, dressed in a different tunic than before. Perhaps Bhada had purchased something a bit smaller for Asan’s frame. Either way, it was a very plain garment, free of decoration and embroidery. It wasn’t what Raheed would have bought him, but a servant would know best what to dress Asan in than Raheed would.

            Asan moved across the room to refill Elder Hassad’s tea and take an empty plate. He didn’t so much as glance at Raheed before leaving. Raheed watched Asan’s exit until he had vanished.

            “Did I do something?” he asked Elder Hassad.

            Elder Hassad shrugged as he sipped his tea. Raheed sighed and returned to his meal, deciding that it could wait.

 

* * *

 

            They had left Elder Hassad for the night, but Asan and Raheed still argued.

            _You shouldn’t have to leave so soon_ , Asan said quickly, hands moving so fast that even Raheed had trouble reading them. _You just got back!_

Afraid of waking Elder Hassad, Raheed answered silently. _I am a soldier, Asan. I can’t fight any wars from Ayllamal, can I_?

            _I thought_ —Asan stopped and looked away, jaw clenched. Raheed was starting to notice the hair growing on his upper lip, the thickening tendons in his neck. Raheed still tended to think of Asan as a child, but he was going to be a man very soon. The thought scared Raheed a bit, considering Asan’s hot temper. Hopefully it wouldn’t get him into trouble, but Raheed recalled what it was like at that age, constantly angry, broken only by short bouts of insatiable lust. And Raheed had been the _laid back_ one amongst his friends.

            _I told you I was going to leave_ , Raheed continued gently.

            _I thought it would be a while._

_It is a while. I’m not leaving tomorrow._

The flame in Raheed’s room flickered, casting trembling shadows across Asan’s face. _It’s less than a month_.

            “Asan . . .” Raheed sank down onto his bed cushions, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”      

            Asan crossed his arms over his chest, looking suddenly unsure of himself.

            “You’ll be fine here,” Raheed said gently, even if his vocal tone was of no importance. “You like Elder Hassad?”  
            Asan shrugged. _He is okay. He seems to be mad at me a lot._

_He was like that with me too_ , Raheed replied. _He still is. But I know he favors me, even if he’s never said so. Be patient. He’ll come to like you._

_How will I know?_

Raheed shrugged. _He will vouch for you when you’re in trouble. He’ll teach you things no one else would. He says you are just a servant, but I know he’ll teach you all you want to learn. He loves to teach more than anything._

Asan shook his head. _I am stupid. I cannot learn_.

            “You’re not stupid,” Raheed said aloud. When Asan didn’t appear to believe him, Raheed stood and planted himself but a stride from Asan, reaching out to take Asan’s arm. “Asan, you are _not_ stupid. I know in Ayllamal they are sometimes . . . dismissive of servants, but that is a reflection upon _them_ , not you.”

            Asan slowly pulled his arm from Raheed’s grip, his neck tensing as he swallowed loudly. Raheed did not touch him again, as it seemed Asan didn’t enjoy the contact.

            _You think I’m stupid_ , Asan finally replied.

            “What? Why would you think that?”

            _You treat me like a servant!_

“You _are_ a servant!”

            _Not to you! We were friends first!_

Raheed took a deep breath. “Asan . . . I . . . in the beginning . . .” For some reason, _friend_ didn’t fit right into how he thought of Asan, and clearly his indecision showed. Asan sent him one withering glare before darting from the room, so quickly that Raheed didn’t see much point in pursuing him.

            Swearing under his breath, Raheed collapsed onto his bedding and rubbed his hands over his face. Part of him couldn’t wait to leave, just so he could avoid the complications of attachments. With his friends dead, Raheed figured it would be easy to be alone, simpler. And the idea of it grew more attractive as he made bigger and bigger mistakes regarding Elder Hassad and Asan. Perhaps it would be best if he just left. Perhaps Asan would befriend another servant, hopefully a _girl_ that would keep him out of trouble. Or in trouble, considering how Raheed was with girls . . .

            Raheed stared up at the ceiling until his lamp flickered out. Then he rolled over and tried to sleep, even as thoughts buzzed about his head like hungry mosquitoes.

           

* * *

 

            The next day, Bhada brought home a puppy.

            Asan was ecstatic. He didn’t think he could be, considering how miserable he’d felt since they’d arrived in this awful place. But when Bhada dropped the squirming creature into Asan’s arms, Asan couldn’t help but laugh as the puppy tried to wet Asan’s face and neck with its tongue.

            _Boy or girl_? Asan asked Bhada. By now, Bhada knew a few signs, making very stilted conversation possible.

            “Boy,” Bhada replied with a toothless grin.

            Asan hugged the puppy to his chest, shoving his nose deep into its fur to inhale its scent. No matter how wretched humans made him feel, animals always made him smile.

            They took the puppy to Elder Hassad for his inspection. Elder Hassad nodded his approval, even grinning once when the puppy tried to clamor into his lap. The puppy was thin, so Elder Hassad instructed Bhada and Asan to feed it at once. Asan was tickled by the idea of the puppy being a skinny beggar too. Even more they had in common.

            Later that night, Raheed explained that the puppy was to be trained to retrieve Asan when Elder Hassad called for him. Upon being told this, Asan named the puppy _Messenger,_ a name which everyone agreed upon. While the little mutt wasn’t much to look at now, he was probably the offspring of some quick-witted parents, considering Bhada had found him at the belly of a recently deceased street mutt. The very poor hunted homeless dogs for food, so Messenger was one of the lucky ones.

            Asan wanted to be mad at Raheed, but when Raheed played and romped on the floor with Messenger, Asan couldn’t maintain his ire. So he joined Raheed on the floor, offering a few sticks for Messenger to grab onto and pull. Sitting across from Raheed and laughing, Asan wished that it could be like this, forever.

            Of course, it would never be.

 

* * *

 

            On the day before Raheed shipped out, he asked Asan if he’d like to see the sea. Asan, of course, said yes.

            They both rode the camel, as they had on their way to Ayllamal. It was different this time, though, as Asan leaned back and held the saddle instead of clutching Raheed’s waist. He wasn’t sure why he refrained, but he believed it too forward, especially when just the thought of touching Raheed sent his mind into a whirlwind of lacivious thoughts. So instead he sat just behind Raheed, trying to ignore the proximity. He craned his head back to look at the dusk-tinted skies, as well as the few white birds that flew overhead. They weren’t majestic, but they were different from what he knew, which made them exotic in his mind.

            It was a much longer ride than Asan expected, but Raheed must have timed it just right, because when the walls fell and Asan was granted an unobstructed view of the horizon, the sun’s belly was just touching the edge of the water, as if floating upon it.

            Asan didn’t even wait for Raheed to halt the camel. He slid off the camel’s backside, landing clumsily on the dirt path before jumping to his feet and trotting toward the docks. To them were attached several boats, some too small to fit more than a few men and others so large that Asan imagined they fit an entire army aboard. These were the ones fitted with what looked like white wings, stretching so tall that Asan wondered how they didn’t fall over.

            He wanted to ask about the boats’ wings, but he also wanted to see the water up close, so he didn’t pause to wait for Raheed before rushing through the crowds to get to the boardwalk. Soon he was right on the edge of the water, so close to the boats that he could practically reach out and touch a few. For a moment he gaped at the largest one, something that had to be a floating castle for all its breadth and height. But eventually his eyes drifted from the boats to the horizon. The most water he’d ever seen had been the size of a large well. This water stretched so far that he couldn’t see land beyond it. It was almost as if that was the edge of the world, and if he floated upon it, he’d ride off the lip and descend into another universe entirely.

            Asan jolted when he felt a hand on his shoulder. When he looked behind him, there stood Raheed, smiling softly. Asan couldn’t help but mimic the expression before returning his gaze to the sea. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

            “Come,” Raheed said, drawing Asan toward the edge of the wooden platform.

            Asan followed cautiously, wondering if they were allowed to leave the path. But he figured Raheed knew what he was doing, so Asan jumped off the platform onto the sand below. He was used to sand, but not _wet_ sand, which was what the sand became the closer they neared the water’s edge. Asan let out giddy cry when he saw the water rush forward, only to receed, as if tentative. It looked both so peaceful and so violent at once. Some of the waves in the distance did not look so kind, splashing against rocks and churning as if being stirred by an unseen hand.

            Raheed began to walk forward, and Asan grabbed him.

            “It’s fine,” Raheed laughed, drawing Asan forward. “It doesn’t bite.”

            Cautiously, Asan let Raheed pull him forward toward the edge of the water. Raheed briefly released Asan so that he could step into the oncoming wave. Asan watched in wonder as the water splashed acround Raheed’s bare ankles before slipping away, leaving Raheed’s feet to sink into the wet sand.

            Asan tiptoed forward, ignoring Raheed’s amused expression. When one wave in particular came further than the other, he was so shocked that he nearly fell over; only by grabbing onto Raheed was he able to stay upright. Raheed’s frame shook with a laugh before he put a hand in the center of Asan’s back, steadying him. Asan might have focused on that had he not been so fascinated with the workings of the sea.

            The water was cold but not too cool, more a comforting chill than anything. Once Asan had gotten used to the rhythm of its movements, he began to wander deeper into the water, pulling up his trousers until the sea lapped at his calves and knees. His throat vibrated with an unexpected laugh, and he knew Raheed had heard it by the way he grinned.

            Asan kicked at the water, then began to run up and down the beach, laughing again when a particularly large wave caught his thighs and soaked his trousers. Nearby, several of those white birds had landed on the sand, and Asan ran after them, throwing out his arms until they all burst into flight. He only stopped laughing as he turned back to that terrifying edge of the sea, a pit into which the sun was slowly sinking. The sky was now tinted vibrant shades of pink and orange, like the last few puffs of a dying fire.

            Asan turned back to see the docks. Raheed stood near the spot where Asan had left him, the water twisting around his bare legs. He was facing the horizon too, the wind pulling at his hair as the sea did his limbs. Asan waited, frozen, his gaze unable to stray from Raheed’s stoic figure. He looked so beautiful and tragic, alone with the vast sea, his skin glowing with the hues of sunset.

            There were two things Asan realized at once. One was that he loved Raheed. He didn’t know if it was the kind of love between brothers or a love of a different sort, but it was love nonetheless, something too powerful to be named anything else. Raheed had taught him the gesture for love when Asan had been unable to understand, but Asan drew the sign now without even thinking. _Love_.

            As Asan once again made the gesture for love, he also realized that he would never have Raheed. Not when he stood so near and felt so far away. Wherever Raheed was looking . . . that was where Raheed belonged. And Asan didn’t think he would be going there with him.

            Asan walked along the edge of the rocking waves until he was at Raheed’s side. He drew Raheed from his thoughts by tugging on a sleeve. Raheed’s eyes refocused, his distant expression dropping away and revealing a small, sad smile.

            Asan pointed to the boats in the distance. _Why do those boats have wings?_ he asked.

            At this, Raheed’s smile did not grow, but it regained some of its spirit and appeared brighter.

            _To fly, of course_ , Raheed answered. Then, with kind eyes, Raheed placed an arm around Asan’s shoulders and together they began heading back to the docks.

 

* * *

             

            Raheed was riding out with a troop of three hundred men, mostly newbies like he had been several years ago. He was to meet them just after sunrise by the gates of the barracks, so he had to consume a quick breakfast before securing his belongings on the camel he had ridden to Ayllamal on. Elder Hassad wasn’t much one for sentimental goodbyes, so he merely accepted Raheed’s bow and put a hand on his shoulder.

            “I hope that God continues to watch you still,” Elder Hassad said. “I believe He has much planned for you.”

            Raheed lowered himself onto one knee and pressed his forehead against Elder Hassad’s hand, a grand gesture of respect. “Thank you, Elder.”

            “You have any idea of how long you might be gone?”

            Raheed stood, straightening his red cloak and repositioning his helmet under his arm. “I can’t tell you. Perhaps a year, maybe more. I will try to send a letter if I can.”

            Elder Hassad nodded. Raheed could see the sorrow on his face, but it was well-concealed by the deep grooves in his skin. He was probably used to watching his students ride in the distance, most of them never to return. 

            Raheed moved to Bhada, who just nodded and smiled and said, “Best of luck to you, Master Raheed.”

            “Thank you, Bhada,” Raheed replied kindly. “Thank you for being so patient with Asan.”

            “Not a problem at all. He is a good boy.”

            Asan stood near the gate, head lowered, holding the camel’s lead rope. He also clutched Messenger in his arms, perhaps for comfort. Messenger had taken quite a liking to Asan, probably because Asan spoiled him with scraps of food and attention that no one else could spare. Raheed had figured that the dog would play favorites, just as the camel had.

            “Asan,” Raheed greeted as he held out his hand for the lead rope. Asan stared blankly at his outstretched hand before slowly giving it over. Then he gently placed Messenger on the ground.

            Asan had already gained weight in the three weeks he’d been here, which gave Raheed hope. He was glad that only nightmares of his friends’ deaths would haunt him; to add Asan’s misfortune would cause him immeasurable grief. Knowing that Asan was safe and taken care of with Elder Hassad helped calm a heart that was already spinning in fear and anxiety. Raheed was trying to hide it, but he was terrified to ride out again, as it was just one more chance to watch people die, be they Mulli or otherwise. Part of Raheed wondered if he even wanted to come back, but then he knew he had to, because Asan would be waiting for him.

            Raheed reached up and removed the Hahnar pin from his cloak, taking Asan’s hand and pressing it to his calloused palm.

            _This is for you_ , Raheed said.

            Asan opened his fingers to look at the pin. _What is it_?  
            _Just a pin I picked up during my travels. It is my good luck charm_.

            _Keep it then_ , Asan replied.

            _No. I want you to keep it safe for now. I’ll come back for it._

Asan’s shoulders tensed, his head dipping even lower. Clearly he was fighting some sort of emotion. But his hands clapsed over the pin and he held it as his side. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes.

            _You_ will _come back for it_ , Asan signed with so much force that he might have been mimicking a fist fight.

            Raheed nodded. _Yes. I will_.

            Asan’s face tightened, but whatever restraint he’d been employing must have broken, because he threw himself at Raheed, wrapping his arms tightly about Raheed’s waist and pressing his face against Raheed’s chest plate. With both a chuckle and a sigh, Raheed returned the embrace, briefly lowering his cheek to the top of Asan’s head. No matter what, he wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t. He was so sure that he wouldn’t that he pulled back prematurely and gently pried Asan’s arms from around him.

            “You be good,” he said with a small smile. “Don’t get into trouble like I did at your age.”

            Asan shook his head, eyes red and puffy.

            “That’s a good boy.” Raheed ruffled Asan’s hair and then patted him firmly on the shoulder, as a friend would. “I want Elder Hassad to have nothing but good things to say about you when I return.”

            Asan nodded, still not meeting Raheed’s eyes.

            Raheed nodded and looked back at Bhada and Elder Hassad. “May God smile upon this house while I’m gone.”

            “May He smile on you as well,” Elder Hassad replied with a nod.

            Raheed wrapped the camel’s lead rope around his hand and then pushed open the gate. He spared one look back at Asan, who was watching him with those huge, petrified eyes Raheed hadn’t seen since Asan was a begger boy in Khafa. This would be the second time Raheed was leaving him, and if Raheed returned, it wouldn’t be the last.

            Raheed provided Asan with a slow salute, and Asan held up the hand clutching the pin. It wasn’t an established sign, but it was a clear gesture: _good luck_.

            Then Raheed turned around and guided his camel out onto the street. 

 

End of Part Three


	16. Servitude/The Barracks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters are going up cuz the one is kinda filler-y. Also, our villain finally shows up. YAY!

**Part Four**

            Two days later, Bhada left as well.

            Bhada might have liked to stay longer, but everyone could see that his body was falling behind the amount of work that needed to be done. Sometimes he would cough so violently that he’d have to sit for ten minutes to regain his energy, and as the days lengthened, his limp grew more pronounced. Bhada’s mind had far more stamina than his body, as he was determined to work until he could stand no longer. In their awkward language of intermixed signs and words, Bhada told Asan that he’d worked for Elder Hassad nearly his whole life. Asan wished he could have learned more about Bhada’s life, but Raheed hadn’t the time to translate anything Bhada might have to say. Or perhaps he did have the time and just didn’t want to bother with servants. Either way, it didn’t matter anymore. Raheed was gone.

            Asan wasn’t nearly as proficient as Bhada at such things like cooking, but Elder Hassad deemed him adequate and said it was time for Bhada to leave. Of course, Bhada could visit occasionally, perhaps grant Asan a few more tips on the vast well of knowledge he’d accrued during his long life. However, when Bhada left, it would for the most part be Elder Hassad, Asan, and Messenger. Asan was terrified.

            He didn’t think Elder Hassad was _cruel_ , but he didn’t strike Asan as being very kind, no matter what Raheed said. He never thanked Asan for anything, and when they had their lessons, he always made such fearsome expressions that Asan was afraid of making mistakes. And without Raheed, there was no one to alleviate confusion. If Elder Hassad was displeased with him, there was nothing keeping Asan off the streets. And while Asan had lived as a beggar boy for many years, he wasn’t eager to return to that life, especially in a city as large and terrifying as this one.

            Bhada packed up his few personal things in a small knapsack before meeting with Elder Hassad in the courtyard to say his goodbyes. Unlike Raheed, Bhada bent down on both knees, then brought his elbows to the earth in what Asan considered a groveling bow. But then Elder Hassad bent to put a hand on his shoulder, and Bhada slowly rose, his expression tranquil.

            Asan lingered near the gate once more, fighting tears. Outside of Raheed, Bhada was the only person to care about Asan. Without him, Asan felt like he’d be truly lost.

            Bhada shuffled over to Asan, smiling in that pleasant way he always did. Asan bowed sharply at the waist; for once, the gesture did not feel subservient. Like Elder Hassad, Bhada put a hand on Asan’s shoulder. Asan wished he could just _talk_ to Bhada, perhaps tell him how much he meant to him, though their time spent together was short. But since Asan lacked spoken language and Bhada lacked gestures, they just shared one potent look before Bhada nodded and stepped out through the yard gate.

            Asan stood in the small opening and watched Bhada hobble down the street, knapsack thrown over his shoulder. Asan saw a bit into his future; one day he’d be that old man shuffling down the street after a lifetime of loyal servitude. It was painful to think about.

            When Asan closed the gate, Messenger licked his ankle. Asan grinned and bent down to scratch the puppy behind the ears. When he looked up, Elder Hassad was watching him from the doorway with that fierce expression, one that always seemed to imply disapproval. Asan immediately stood and strode into the house, holding out his arm so that Elder Hassad could lean upon it. Together, they went back inside.

 

* * *

 

            For several weeks, Asan was miserable. The one man he could talk to was gone, and the servant who had helped him understand Elder Hassad’s orders had only visited once since his departure, and hadn’t stayed long. Now Asan felt like he was back where he started, trying to do what was asked of him but clueless to what was _being_ asked of him. Elder Hassad had given him a few sheets of paper to draw with, which made it a bit easier, considering this was how he and Raheed had learned years ago. But Elder Hassad’s vision was not very good, and Asan’s drawing skills had suffered during their disuse. Overall, Asan spent much of his time confused and frustrated, and when he wasn’t either of those, he missed Raheed with such fury that he had to turn his face and hide his tears.

            He felt stupid, missing Raheed. Raheed had returned to him before, but who was to say Raheed missed him too? Raheed was probably busy fighting or marching or commanding over other soldiers. He wouldn’t cry, nor would he spend his entire evenings in a corner, moping.

            Despite how futile it seemed, Elder Hassad called Asan to his study every night so that they might learn more of each other’s language. And for the few weeks that Asan was miserable, Asan feared that learning anything would be impossible. He was sulky and impolite at times, for which Elder Hassad would swat Asan upon the head with his cane. They weren’t hard hits, more reminders to pay attention than anything else. Asan sometimes wanted to hit him back. _I am not as smart as you want me to be! I don’t understand how to read lips!_ That’s what Asan wanted to say to him, but he knew Elder Hassad would not understand. And besides, he might hit Asan again, and Asan wasn’t sure if he could stop himself from grabbing that cane and splitting it in half. He was much stronger these days; he could probably do it.

            Time moved on, even though it dragged its feet. And while it did get worse at first, Asan would have to be blind to insist that it wasn’t slowly getting better. Because despite all the swats and the disapproving looks, Elder Hassad’s and Asan’s vocabularies began to grow. And once they could start communicating, Elder Hassad became less of an evil old coot and more of what Raheed had promised he would be.

            This realization, of course, did not truly come to fruition until Elder Hassad sent Asan to the market to pick up some fruit for lunch. Asan liked his shopping trips; they got him out of the house and onto the streets, which were far more interesting. He liked to stop and pet the donkey that was usually tied at the end of the alley, at least until the woman who lived there came out and shooed him away. She probably thought he was there to steal it.

            Asan kept going to the shops that Bhada had solicited, because their prices were fair and they loved Bhada, so they treated Asan with a generic sort of courtesy, even if it wasn’t the warmth they had provided the old servant. Plus Bhada had explained Asan’s affliction, so they needn’t wonder over why he never spoke.

            Asan stood nearby several cages of chickens to stop and organize the fruits he’d purchased when he saw someone dart across the street in front of him. It was a young boy, probably the age Asan had been when Raheed had first met him. Trailing him was a tall and robust fellow, dressed in attire that suggested he was a merchant. Raheed had also taught Asan how to distinguish different classes of men by their beards. The subtleties of the styles were lost on Asan, but he was able to recognize the trend: the larger the beard, the higher-up the man sat in the hierarchy. It was why Elder Hassad’s beard was long and untrimmed, and if this man was a merchant, it would explain the full yet closely cropped facial hair. 

            The man grabbed the boy by the back of his tunic, wheeled him around, and struck him across the face. The boy dropped to his knees and placed his forehead on the ground, all while the man lashed at him with what looked like a strip of leather. After several seconds, the man kicked the boy and whipped around, continuing down the street. The boy picked himself up and followed, his cheeks red and wet with tears.

            Everyone stared for a moment, then continued on their way, as if nothing odd had happened.

            Asan slowly made his way home, feeling a bit sick and shaken. That boy had once been Asan, but at least Asan hadn’t been forced to follow home the men who beat him. He had been a beggar but loyal to no one.

            Messenger was waiting for Asan when he slipped through the gate. His tail was wagging, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. When Asan tried to push him aside, he pawed at Asan’s foot, something he seemed to have learned when taught to retrieve Asan. So Asan quickly put the basket of fruit in the kitchen before crossing the veranda to Elder Hassad’s study.

            Elder Hassad sat near the window, several pages spread out across his lap. He held a leather cover in his hands, as well as what looked like a sewing needle. It was clear what he was trying to do. The book’s stitching must have failed, and Elder Hassad was attempting to repair it.

            “Asan,” Elder Hassad said as he waved Asan forward. “Come.”

            Asan bowed his head and moved forward, taking a seat at Elder Hassad’s side. Elder Hassad held out the book for Asan to take, as well as the needle and the scattered pages.

            “You fix,” Elder Hassad said, gesturing as well. Asan wasn’t sure how one sewed a book back together, but apparently Elder Hassad wasn’t expecting him to learn on his own. He reached out and helped Asan gather up the pages and place them back into the book, then aided Asan’s hand as he sewed. Clearly Elder Hassad’s fingers shook too much to do the job properly, but Asan had long fingers and had little trouble making neat stitches.

            When Asan finished, Elder Hassad held the book up and peered at it in the light, inspecting both the stitches and how the pages sat beneath the cover. After a few moments of this, he dropped the book to his lap and turned to Asan with a nod. “Good.”

            It seemed to be the first time Elder Hassad had vocally approved of anything Asan had done, and because of this, that simple _good_ felt more rewarding than anything. Asan fought a smile and bowed his head in acceptance. Then Elder Hassad waved him away, turning back to his literature.

            Asan returned to the kitchen to put the fruit away, though he couldn’t help but recall the beaten boy at the market. Asan _could_ have been that boy. Even though Asan was determined to hate this place, he had to understand that a grumpy old man was a far better master than a cruel merchant. A few swats of a cane on the back of his head were not a beating—Asan knew that from experience. And Asan could sometimes be rude or difficult. After all, Raheed loved Elder Hassad, and Asan loved Raheed. He had no reason not to trust Raheed’s judgment.

            Asan took a deep breath and told himself that from today on, he’d stop feeling so sorry for himself. It wasn’t his ideal situation (his ideal situation included Raheed), but it was one he should be thankful for. He had started out on the streets, constantly hungry and looking for food to steal. No one had cared about him. They had, in fact, despised him. Elder Hassad did not despise Asan. He might not care for Asan like he did Raheed, but he at least tolerated him, which was more than Asan was used to.

            Asan decided he would do better. He would make a home for himself here, and put all thoughts of Raheed aside. That way, when Raheed returned, he would not find some whiny, ungrateful little beggar boy. He would find a self-posessed, confident, learned young man. And Raheed would be impressed.

            Asan would make sure of it.

 

* * *

 

            “Something is wrong with that servant of yours, Hassad,” Ahfin said as Asan left the room to retrieve more tea.

            Elder Hassad pulled a mint leaf from his tea and took a short sip. “Why would you say that?”

            “He said not a word to me when he greeted me at the gate. That’s rather rude, don’t you think?”

            “He can’t speak. He’s mute.”

            “Oh.” Ahfin paused. Elder Hassad had always loved the Lord more than he loved his fellow clerics, but Ahfin was the closest to what he’d consider a friend. “What happened to Bhada?”

            “He has retired to the home of his son. He visits occasionally, but he was growing too old to be of much use.”

            “A shame. He was a good man, humble and kind, a true servant of the Lord.”

            Elder Hassad nodded. “Yes, he lived here with me since I was a young man. I liked to consider us friends, even if the outside world wouldn’t much like that.”

            “And this new one? What’s his story?”

            “An orphan, brought to me by a student.”

            Ahfin chuckled. “A _charity_ case? You? Don’t you hate charity?”

            Elder Hassad glared at him. “I don’t _hate_ charity. I just find it false. Last time I visited an orphanage, they paraded some pathetic children before me before asking for money. Well, if they fed those orphans perhaps they wouldn’t look pathetic, but pathetic children empty pockets faster. Giving orphans bread one day won’t make them any less hungry the next. You’ve got to make something of them, _teach_ them something at least.”

            “And so that’s what you’re doing with this boy?”

            “Yes.”

            “And he works to your satisfaction?”

            “Well, you know boys his age.” Elder Hassad rolled his eyes. “Full of anger and passion and no idea where to funnel it. He’s smarter than he thinks he is, and I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

            “So what student brought him to you?”

            “Raheed. Do you remember him?”

            Ahfin laughed. “Of course I remember that boy. You very much enjoyed him, didn’t you?”

            “He was honest. Finding an honest boy amongst _bhanaks_ is a rare treasure.”

            “How old is he now? Eighteen?”

            Elder Hassad snorted. “Time goes faster than you think it does, brother. He’s about twenty-one by now. He returned from war just to get sent off again.”

            Asan returned with a full kettle of tea. His behavior was a bit more polished whenever strangers came to call, which Elder Hassad appreciated. Bhada was rarely the perfect servant, but he knew his place. Asan was beginning to fit into his.

            “What’s your name, boy?” Ahfin asked.

            Asan’s eyes were cast downward, so he didn’t even show any sign that he’d noticed the question.

            “Forgive him, he’s deaf as well,” Elder Hassad said, as if it were an afterthought.

            “Deaf? Deaf _and_ mute? Are you sure he isn’t blind as well?”

            Elder Hassad reached out and tugged Asan’s sleeve. Asan jolted and looked up.

            “He can say his name at least,” Elder Hassad said slowly and clearly. “Your name?”

            Asan turned to Ahfin, looking both terrified and confused. With a gulp, he said, “ _Asan_ ,” the syllables rounded and garbled but mostly intelligible. It was something he and Elder Hassad had been working on recently.

            Ahfan nodded with a smile. “Does he understand speech at all?”

            “He can read some lips, though Raheed and him communicated through hand gestures. Very clever, if not a bit unusual.”

            “Fascinating. I can see why you took him on. Languages have always been your expertise.”

            “Usually spoken ones written down in old books. This has been a challenge but I do find it interesting.” Elder Hassad nodded at Asan before waving him away. Asan bowed briefly before returning to the kitchen. “It will take some getting used to.”  
            “Indeed.”

            Then the two old men returned their conversation to scholarly matters, and Asan was not discussed further.

 

* * *

 

            By the light of the oil lamp by his bedside, Asan pulled out a few pieces of paper that Elder Hassad had asked him to throw away. It had been deceitful to keep them, but he thought it wasteful to toss out perfectly usable paper, especially when Asan had been itching to draw for quite some time. Of course, he drew often in the presence of Elder Hassad, but nothing that truly interested him.

            He fumbled under his pillow and pulled out a small tin. Inside were three pieces of fragile charcoal, something he’d bought with an extra _imma_ Elder Hassad had uncharacteristically offered Asan to spend on something for himself. It was only an _imma_ , so there weren’t many options. Charcoal had been a wise choice, at least until he realized he had nothing to draw upon. Paper was much more expensive than a few pieces of charcoal, that was for sure. He dared not ask Elder Hassad for anything, so he did what he had to.

            The light was feeble, but Asan’s eyes were sharp. Biting his lip, he began to sketch a face in the top corner of the paper. Within minutes, he frowned in frustration and rubbed feverishly at what he’d drawn.

            It took him several tries before he had come upon a face shape he was happy with. Each feature brought more frustration, but Asan was determined to get it right, and by the time the oil in the lamp had burned low, Asan had only the eyes left to sketch. They proved to be the hardest. So much spirit and personality resided in the eyes, and to ruin them would be to ruin the whole portrait.

            In the end, Asan wasn’t entirely pleased with the drawing, but he knew he’d improve with practice. For a long moment he stared at what he’d created, filled with the longing he’d pushed away in order to learn and work at Elder Hassad’s house. Even if many of the features Asan had drawn were all wrong, the curls had been easy to capture, somewhat wild and crushed in a ring around Raheed’s head, where he often tied a turban or a scarf. Looking at them captured in charcoal, Asan was stabbed by the desire to touch them, to pluck at each curl with his fingers and then press his cheek against them.

            Asan clenched his thighs together and tossed the drawing to the floor, furious with himself. He needed to stop thinking such things. Not only would they never happen, but it wasn’t _right_. Raheed was a man. Asan was supposed to feel this way about pretty girls. Perhaps it was because Raheed had been the first kind person in his life, the first with whom Asan could hold a conversation. Maybe it would go away when Asan met a kind, beautiful woman. But Asan rarely left the house, and when he did, none of the women inspired anything of note within him. He could stare at the prettiest girl he’d seen so far and feel nothing more than mild appreciation, but one glance at Raheed lit his skin on fire.

            Asan put a hand to his burning face, refusing to so much as touch anything below his waist. He hadn’t any trouble touching himself before Raheed. He wished he could go back to the time when it was just physical release, an easy and simple way to forget about beatings and starvation. Now it felt so _complicated_ and _foreign_. Touching himself to thoughts of Raheed would make them that much more real, and if Raheed ever knew . . . well, he probably wouldn’t kill Asan, but their friendship—or whatever they had—would be ruined forever.

            Asan stood and opened the door to his room. Messenger was lying there, head on his paws. When he saw Asan, he jumped up and wagged his tail. Asan invited him inside his room and settled down on the cushions and blankets with him, pushing his face into the dog’s musky fur in hopes that it might make him feel better. He put the drawing of Raheed in the box that held his oil lamp aloft and returned to the bed to wrap himself around Messenger’s curled form. Hugging Messenger didn’t chase away his thoughts of Raheed like he’d hoped it would. Now he couldn’t help but imagine the warm body he held belonged to the Mulli soldier’s, that the brief sweep of tongue across his neck was—

            _No more_. Asan clenched his fists in Messenger’s fur and tried to hold back tears. But they came anyway, and Asan felt more helpless than he’d ever felt in his life.

 

**Chapter Two: The Barracks**

 

Eight months after Raheed’s departure, Asan and Elder Hassad were already communicating in full sentences. Elder Hassad’s gestures lacked the subtlety of Raheed’s, but Asan understood him nevertheless and in return, tried hard to watch how Elder Hassad’s lips formed words. He could comprehend general expressions by now, such as “How are you” and “May God bless your house,” something Elder Hassad said to and received from all his vistors. Raheed had never said that, but then again, Raheed had never had a house. It must be a Mulli-by-blood thing.

            Asan had worked up the bravery to ask for a proper book to sketch in, and Elder Hassad’s initial reaction was “Of course not. Don’t you have better things to do with your time?” But Asan had begun to realize that Elder Hassad rarely meant the things he said initially. He simply needed time to convince himself that providing Asan with a sketchbook was his idea instead of Asan’s.  So Asan merely nodded his head and waited. Predictably, Elder Hassad came to him the next day complaining about how Asan spent his free time doing nothing.

            “You should better yourself,” Elder Hassad said. “You will get yourself a book to draw in.”

            Asan tried to hide a smile as he bowed slightly. _Thank you, Elder Hassad_.

            “Here are four _immas_. Spend them wisely, and don’t come to me asking for anything again.”

            Asan accepted the money and turned before Elder Hassad could see him grin.

           

* * *

 

            Asan was on his hands and knees scrubbing the veranda tile floor when Messenger ran up to him and barked, pawing at Asan’s wrist. So Asan pulled himself to a stand, wiped his wet hands on his baggy trousers, and went to find Elder Hassad in his study.

            “Sit,” Elder Hassad ordered.

            Asan did so.

            “Here.” Elder Hassad handed him a book. On the cover was faded gold-leaf writing, as well as an intricate border. “Open it.”

            Asan did so. The pages were filled with large handwriting, much larger than anything Asan had seen Elder Hassad read. He briefly traced the swoops of ink before lifting his eyes to Elder Hassad’s curiously.

            “It is a primer,” Elder Hassad said.

            Asan’s brow knitted in confusion. _What is this?_

“A primer? It’s a book for children. A long time ago I used that to educate the young soldiers I taught. Raheed was raised on a different yet similar book.”

            Asan’s eyes widened in shock, his interest caught. Of course, anything regarding Raheed struck him as fascinating. He looked back down at the book, then realized why Elder Hassad might be showing this.

            _Are you going to teach me how to read_? Asan asked, trying to hide his excitement.

            Elder Hassad frowned, then took the book back from Asan and closed it with one hand. When Asan stared in confusion, Elder Hassad tossed the book to the floor.

            “No. I’m going to teach you how to copy lines.”

            Asan’s face fell. _I don’t understand_.

             “Many of my books’ ink is fading, making it hard to read. The military’s library is filled with such books, and no cleric wants to waste the time to re-copy them. I know that you are somewhat competent with a piece of charcoal, so I think it’s about time you learned how to draw with a pen.”

            _A pen_?

            “Yes.” Elder Hassad reached into a box near his feet and pulled out a feather quill as well as its inkwell. “This.”

            Asan gaped for a second, then swallowed. _How will I copy lines if I cannot read?_

“It’s better if you don’t read. Once a boy can read, he gets lazy and writes as he likes. No, you will be mimicking the style of calligraphy masters, so I want to make sure you can do it perfectly.” When Asan didn’t respond, Elder Hassad’s expression grew more shrewd. “Do you know how important calligraphy is to the Mulli, boy?”

            _What is this_?

            “All of this.” Elder Hassad gestured to the books, some opened and lying across the floor. Asan would have liked to clean them up, but Elder Hassad was very territorial over his study. He didn’t like Asan “snooping”. “All that you see is calligraphy. It is what brings poetry to life, what breathes spirit into all the prophets have said. It marks every doorway in a temple, rendered with the beauty such holy words require. It is very important that it be treated with the solemnity it requires.”

            Often Asan didn’t understand some of the words Elder Hassad said, but he was good at filling in the blanks using context. He nodded in acquiescance.

            “Most soldiers aren’t taught proper calligraphy because it’s deemed not important for their development. What use has a soldier for art? Raheed’s handwriting is awful; I’m not sure if you’ve ever noticed.”

            _No, I haven’t_.

            “He drove me mad when he was my student, but calligraphy takes the patience and discipline he lacked. He loved to read, but ask him to concentrate on anything methodical and he was impossible. I think you have more of a temperament for it. It would also serve as a believable excuse to why I’m teaching you things a servant should not learn.”

            Asan frowned in confusion. _Are you going to teach me how to read eventually_?

            Elder Hassad didn’t answer immediately. He spent a moment looking Asan up and down, perhaps debating in his own head on whether to say yes or no. Finally he sighed and said, “I suppose eventually, yes. But only when your calligraphy is perfect!”

            Asan didn’t try to hide the smile that stretched across his face. _Thank you, Elder._

“Yes, yes. Well. Don’t sit there grinning at me like a simpleton. I’m sending you on an errand to the barracks’ temple. You’ll find books on calligraphy techniques there, books I don’t have. I will write a note to the librarian and he will see to it that you’re given the proper texts.”

            Asan bowed his head and fetched a sheet of clean paper for Elder Hassad to write upon. He had seen Elder Hassad write occasionally, but knowing that there was now the possibility of learning how to do the same, Asan watched Elder Hassad’s pen carefully, trying to track its movement. Elder Hassad shot him a rather cantankerous look but said nothing, and that didn’t bother Asan because he was used to it. Expressions and actions that had once inspired fear within him were now almost amusing quirks. That wasn’t to say he wouldn’t enjoy a master who was a bit kinder and generous, but Asan liked to think that Elder Hassad and him had come to some sort of understanding. If Asan did as he was told, then he had nothing to fear from the elderly cleric.

            Elder Hassad handed him the note but didn’t release it when Asan’s fingers took hold.

            “I’m going to warn you once,” Elder Hassad said, gesturing with only one hand since his other was holding the note. “The barracks is a place of strict hierarchy. All that has been taught to you as proper servant behavior is to be flawlessly enacted when you are there. How you behave in the market, about the streets, and in this house would not be appreciated in the territory of military men. Do you understand?”

            Asan nodded.

            Elder Hassad released the note and waved him away. “Then go. I expect you back in time to make dinner.”

           

* * *

 

            Asan had never been to the barracks before, but he knew the way. The barracks were topped with four tall and fat towers, ones that could be seen halfway across the city. All Asan had to do was climb an occasional incline to see where they sat in order to find his way. He began to see it as an adventure, one he was rarely allowed. He knew he didn’t have much time, but he couldn’t help but idle near street performers and houses built with particular elegance. There had been only one or two wealthy men in Khafa, and “wealthy” in Khafa meant owning more than ten goats. “Wealthy” had a very different meaning here, and Asan couldn’t help but linger at their houses and wonder who dwelled within. Most of the nicer houses were protected by tall walls and thick gates, but sometimes Asan could see the laundry fluttering on their roofs.

            The main gate into the barracks was blocked by a massive iron portcullis, in front of which stood several men in uniform. Asan had thought himself rather immune to soldiers, considering all the time he spent with Raheed, but now he realized that the only reason Raheed’s fearsome uniform hadn’t struck him as terrifying was because he knew it was Raheed. When other strange men wore it, Asan was filled with the fear they were meant to inspire.

            Asan decided to forgo that gate, sure that there had to be smaller, less intimidating ones, perhaps ones meant for servants. So he began to circle the walls, walls built with stones so enormous that Asan shuddered to think of who had pulled them out of quarries. He’d thought beating shale into fragments had been hard.

            He finally came upon a smaller gate, this one also blocked by a portcullis but only guarded by two men. Asan approached them with his head bowed, shoulders slumped. Before it hadn’t been hard to be shorter than his superiors, but he was growing tall fast, and suddenly he was having to stoop in order to appear subservient.

            The soldiers stopped him and took the note he offered. The bigger one read it briefly before showing it to his cohort. They asked no further questions before letting him in. That was the first challenge conquered.

            Asan had to pass two more gates, but they were open and unguarded. He supposed there wasn’t much of a security risk at the center of the Mulli empire, not when people’s efforts were focused on keeping their land elsewhere. After the last gate, Asan stepped into a small cobblestone courtyard, barren save the small well in the center. A few people dressed as servants were scurrying about, as well as two men dressed in the robes of clerics. Clearly this wasn’t an area reserved for soldiers, which comforted Asan. Maybe he could manage to get in and out without having to face another one.

            Asan would have liked to ask a servant, but he could not speak and they could not read, so unfortunately he was forced to face one of the clerics, a task that was not without its risks, considering the clerics seemed to be heavily involved in their conversation. Asan lingered behind them until he sensed a pause in their chatter, then took a few steps forward. The younger cleric noticed him first, looking annoyed.

            “What is it?” he asked. Asan could read that much on his lips.

            Asan bowed hastily and pointed to a sentence that Elder Hassad had scribbled on the back of the letter. Asan assumed it read _Where is the library_?

            The clerics looked to one another in confusion, more so from Asan’s odd behavior than the question in particular. Finally the younger cleric pointed behind him to a spiraling staircase. His lips were easier to read since his beard was not so full. “Up the stairs, down the hallway, take a right, then another right. It’ll be at the end of the hall.”

            Asan bowed lower this time in gratitude and then scampered off before they could demand a title. Servants were supposed to speak the titles to their superiors, as Bhada did when he called Elder Hassad _Master Hassad_. It was something Asan was working on, but it easily frustrated him whenever Elder Hassad told him it would not do. How could Asan know what _would_ do? He couldn’t even hear the words for himself.

            Asan made several wrong turns and wandered about for longer than he should have, but he finally came upon a room he decided _had_ to be the library. He’d never seen one for himself, at least anything larger than the room Elder Hassad had, but he figured a library was a place with many books and scrolls, and this certainly had enough of those. Shelves upon shelves of them. Some men sat by windows, smoking pipes and reading, nearly all clerics. Asan only saw one who might have been a soldier out of uniform, so he avoided him.

            Asan had been hoping he might be able to find the book on his own, but there was no hope, so he tried to find the cleric in charge, Elder Ihad. Of course, Elder Hassad hadn’t told him how to find the librarian, so Asan was stuck wandering about the stacks, looking for a cleric that might be distinguished in a way the others weren’t.

            A hand suddenly clamped down on his shoulder, and Asan nearly ripped himself away from it. Luckily he was able to gather his wits before striking whomever’s hand it was before turning.

            A cleric glared down at him, this one tall, thin, and pale, as if he had been born in a crypt. His lips moved, but his beard was so scraggly that Asan could barely see his mouth at all, let alone read its movements. When Asan said nothing, the cleric shook him. Asan sheepishly held up the letter Elder had given him.

            The man took the letter and read it quickly, his expression only changing when his eyes fell to the signature at the very bottom. He gave Asan a rather chilling glare before striding off in the opposite direction. Asan followed.

            Asan was led to the end of the library and up a marble staircase that twisted halfway around as it ascended. The cleric knocked on the door, and it was opened by a short, squat man in a bright blue turban that dwarfed his head. There was a color to his cheeks and a shape to his wrinkles that suggested a certain mirth, one that Asan’s captor clearly lacked.

            The thin cleric handed the letter to the fatter one. The fatter one put it very close to his face in order to read it, then nodded and motioned the thin cleric away. With a small glare at Asan (one that Asan yearned to return but refrained), the thin cleric descended the stairs. The short cleric—Asan guess this was Elder Ihad—gestured Asan to join him inside his office, which was cluttered but organized. There was another door leading into another room, upon which Elder Ihad knocked. A small boy emerged, no older than ten. Elder Ihad showed him the letter, then spoke, though his back was to Asan, so Asan could read none of it. The boy nodded and vanished back into his room.

            Elder Ihad settled down on the floor and returned to his reading, occasionally taking a sip from his small porcelain tea cup. At one point, he lifted it to his lips and frowned when there was nothing left. Before he could move to refill it, Asan rushed to take the kettle and do it for him. Asan wasn’t sure why he bothered, as it was a servant’s duty to only do as he was asked. But the librarian just smiled and held up his now filled cup in a small salute before continuing to sip it.

            Finally the boy returned, this time struggling under the weight of about six books. He dropped them onto a short table beside Asan, then bent over his knees to regain his breath.

            “Excellent!” Asan read on Elder Ihad’s lips. He turned to Asan, handing back Elder Hassad’s letter. “These books are for you.”

            Asan nodded, then bowed. Unlike the ten-year-old boy, Asan had little trouble bearing the weight of the books. He might have when he first arrived in Ayllamal, but Elder Hassad fed Asan well, and Asan grew larger because of it. He attempted to say “thank you” to Elder Ihad, but it must have come out horribly garbled, because Elder Ihad laughed and clapped Asan on the shoulder. Asan was so used to Elder Hassad’s nature that such warmth was foreign to him. He even felt himself blush as he nodded and bowed once more before leaving the librarian’s office.

            Being as he’d been lost on the way to the library, he had no clue how to get back to the gate he’d come in from. Somehow he ended up taking a staircase that led him down to a much larger courtyard, this one filled with boys a few years younger than Asan, all wearing the practical, light-brown robes of young soldiers. They didn’t appear to be training, but instead stood about conversing by a fountain topped with a roaring lion.

            Asan considered turning around and finding another way, but his arms were already aching and the sun was beginning to sink in the sky; Elder Hassad would be angry if Asan were late. They were just boys, and surely servants were a common sight to them. Yet he feared them as much as he had Raheed’s friends in the Khafa market, and Asan was at their mercy more now than he had been then.

            Taking a deep breath, Asan kept the shadows as he made his way along the veranda. He kept his eyes pinned on the doorway that would take him from the courtyard, resisting the urge to run. He hated soldiers, he really did. Raheed had been the only one he’d ever met who did not consider himself superior to all others.

            Asan finally made it to the hallway between this courtyard and the next, so he inhaled sharply and relaxed. But then he saw three boys coming his way, perhaps arriving to join their friends. Keeping in mind what Elder Hassad had said about the servitude expected here, he pressed his back against the wall and descended to his knees, head bowed. He closed his eyes and waited for the boys to pass, but when he opened them he found himself staring at three sets of boots.

            He looked up.

            One of the boys—the biggest one, of course—stooped to pluck a book from the pile Asan was carrying. Asan would have grabbed it from him had he not been holding several others. The boy looked through it briefly before throwing it to the floor. Asan couldn’t help but think he looked remarkably like Raheed’s friend as he did that. Smugness was a common soldier trait.

            Asan cradled the other books in one arm as he stretched out to retrieve the one they’d tossed down. But then another boy kicked it several strides away, a blow that tore some of the binding, nearly taking the cover right off. Asan knew he’d be blamed for it, and his blood boiled.

            Another boy took yet another book from Asan, but Asan was ready for it this time. He grabbed it before it was out of reach, and lifted his eyes to the young soldier’s in defiance. How he would have liked to punch this boy right in the nose. He knew he could do it; he was stronger now than he’d ever been, and he was dying to put that strength to some good use.

            The boy snarled and kicked the rest of the books from Asan’s grip. There was a flutter of pages, some pulled completely out of their binding to join the mess on the floor. Maybe Asan wouldn’t have minded so much if they were broken pots or torn fabric, but Elder Hassad considered books more precious than most things, and such beliefs had implanted themselves in Asan. He would have sacrificed much in his childhood to have access to a book, _any_ book. And now these boys were destroying them without a second thought, because it was _funny_.

            Asan hated soldiers.

            Stiffly, Asan reached out to save a book from further destruction, but his hand was kicked away. When he lifted his eyes, he was greeted by three smirks, so filled with ignorant amusement. They were daring him to move, to gather what they had ruined. Asan knew a challenge when he saw one, and every inch of him yearned to put them in their place. He knew he could. For the first time, he was bigger than them.

            When another boy tried kicking him again, Asan grabbed his ankle and twisted. The boy lost his balance and fell, but another boy immediately retaliated, kicking Asan in the side this time. Asan jumped to a stand and shoved him hard, so hard that the boy fell to the ground. The last young soldier attempted to pull Asan down by wrapping his arms around Asan’s neck, but Asan elbowed him in the gut, then pushed him down as well. He had hoped that he might incapacitate them long enough to gather the pages to his books, or that they might run off when realizing they had a rather aggressive foe. But only one ran off; the other two were immediately on their feet and attacking Asan again.

            The fight seemed to take forever, even though it probably only lasted a minute. Asan had underestimated the boys, of course. Asan was bigger, but these boys had been trained to fight from young ages, so they had Asan subdued once they’d gotten over their surprise. By the time Asan was on the ground, an older man was approaching, this one wearing the full Mulli uniform. The boy who’d run trailed behind him, grinning like a fox.

            Asan knew now that he was in trouble for much more than torn books.

 

* * *

 

            Elder Hassad had to hire a donkey cart in order to reach the barracks by sunset. Once the driver helped Elder Hassad from the cart, Elder Hassad was greeted by perhaps one of his least favorite people, Lieutenant General Yussam.

            Unlike General Mamid, Yussam was Mulli-by-blood and the son of a late advisor to the caliph. Several times Elder Hassad quelled the urge to tell Yussam that he was, in fact, _not_ the caliph, because the lieutenant general seemed to think it so. Elder Hassad had taught both Mamid and Yussam when they were young men, but Elder Hassad hadn’t even liked Yussam then. Yussam had always known it, and it was why he had fought to remove Elder Hassad from his position since he had the power to do so. Luckily a cleric’s position was not easily taken from him; it required the temple’s agreement, and no temple agreed on Yussam’s assertion that Elder Hassad was unfit to teach soldiers. It certainly didn’t hurt that Mamid had always vouched for him as well.

            “Aren’t we at war?” Elder Hassad asked Yussam as he hobbled toward the nearest staircase. “Why are you here?”

            Yussam’s eyes narrowed, perhaps resisting the urge to tell Elder Hassad off. But he knew that doing so to a respected elder of the community would be unwise. “I had matters to attend to here. I will be leaving in a month’s time.”

            “General Mamid didn’t want you to join him on the northern front?”

            “ _General Mamid_ is a disgrace to this empire. He lost an entire army to the Hahnars. He should have been demoted and cast out.”

            “I’m sure you would have liked that, being as his job would then be yours.”

            Yussam could have spit venom from his lips if he had he ability to do so. “You should hold your tongue. You are of no position to mock me.”

            “I’ll say whatever I like about you, or anyone really. If you’d like, you may dance on my grave when I’m dead. I suppose I won’t care.” Elder Hassad rapped his cane on the cobblestone. “Now tell me why _you_ , of all people, has summoned me here to take care of an issue with my servant. I didn’t know that lieutentant generals had time for such small matters.”

            “It wasn’t me that summoned you. If it were up to me, I would have beaten him within an inch of his life and tossed him in the dungeon, as is the proper punishment for such a crime. The only reason I’m involved at all is because I was the officer the boys found first.”

            “Who did summon me then?”

            “A nearby cleric. He said you should be alerted to what sort of savage you saw fit to employ.”

            “Ah. And as I do recall, it _is_ up to the clerics to decide what sort of punishments are given to servants, is it not?”

            “ _Soldiers_ were involved!”

            “It is the responsibility of the military to discipline soldiers as they see fit, as _bhanaks_ are the property of that institution. _Servants_ , however, are completely under the jurisdiction of the temple and its clerics, as the temple owns the bricks and morter that holds this fortress together. I thought you would have remembered that. It’s very basic law, something even a very young soldier learns—”

            “I _know it_ ,” Yussam snapped. “But you are no longer a cleric of this institution, so it is entirely under the jurisdiction of _someone else_ to determine the boy’s punishment.”

            “Then why was I summoned if it isn’t up to me?”

            Yussam glared but said nothing, only spun around and continued up the staircase to where Elder Hassad assumed others were waiting. Taking his time, Elder Hassad shuffled to the staircase and took one stair at a time. By the time he’d made it to the top, he was out of breath and his hip was throbbing. Ignoring the pain, he continued down the hall until he reached the one lit doorway, where Yussam and others were standing.

            It was a small room, mostly barren save a few lamps and a faded cushion on the seat by the window. Two clerics stood talking in low voices, while Asan knelt on the floor, hands tied in his lap, bruises forming on both his face and exposed arms. He raised his head and met Elder Hassad’s gaze, but Elder Hassad’s gaze was hard, unforgiving. Asan’s head drooped again as he looked away.

            “Elder,” said the clerics together, both bowing slightly.

            “Hello. Would anyone like to tell me what this is about?”

            “Is this your servant?”

            “I believe he is. How did you know?”

            “He was carrying this letter.” One cleric held up the letter Elder Hassad had sent with him. “You signed your name at the bottom.”

            “Yes, I wrote that. I sent him in on an errand to gather some books.”

            “Are you aware of his crime?”

            “Not exactly. Your messenger didn’t say much, only that I was required to speak on his behalf.”

            “He attacked several _bhanak_ boys.”

            “Attacked? How so?”

            “He gave one of the boys a bloody lip,” Yussam said from the doorway. “And another a twisted ankle.”

            Elder Hassad took a deep breath. “Do you know the motive behind it?”

            “Doesn’t matter what the motive was. All that matters is that I have three injured _bhanaks_ and a servant who’s not fit to serve,” Yussam continued. “He needs to be put away or put down.”

            “He is right,” said the older cleric in a softer, more even voice. “It does not matter what might have provoked the fight. The law is very clear about this. We cannot have servants assaulting soldiers, under any circumstances.”

            Elder Hassad nodded. “Yes. I know this. What do you propose then?”

            The clerics looked at one another. The younger one said, “Considering the boys’ injuries, we think the most appropriate response is five years’ imprisonment.”

            Elder Hassad forced himself to wait a few moments before saying, “Asan is just a boy. It seems rather severe—”

            “He’s older thant he boys he attacked!” Yussam interrupted angrily. “Older and larger. Is this the sort of rabble you’re having run your household these days?”

            “Lieutenant General,” one of the clerics said quietly, “please.”

            Elder Hassad took a deep breath. “I apologize for the actions of my servant. Of course they were completely out of line, and I do think punishment is necessary. However, he is both mute and deaf, and I think this must be taken into consideration.”

            “Yes, your letter mentioned this.” One of the clerics looked down at the letter in his hand. “A very rare affliction, one I’ve never seen before. Yet he is sound of mind, I assume.”

            “Well, yes, but he is from a border town and does not truly understand Mulli ways.”

            “That doesn’t shock me,” Yussam muttered. “A heathen is always a heathen.”

            Elder hassad ignored him. “I do not think imprisonment would be appropriate.”

            “It is customary to these sorts of crimes.”

            “He will cost the empire money, sitting in a cell and rotting, and I fear he’ll learn nothing from it.”

            “If he is not imprisoned, he will have to be punished otherwise.”

            “Yes.”

            “A lashing then.”

            Elder Hassad nodded gravely. “If that is what must be done.”

            The clerics both turned to Yussam. “Is this satisfactory to you, sir?”

            “No, not really.”

            “It is not up to him,” Elder Hassad said.

            “He is the Lieutenant General.”

            “He knows nothing of my servant. Let him discipline his soldiers as he sees fit. I’m sure he _will_ discipline them.” Elder Hassad turned to face Yussam with a glare. “I cannot imagine this attack was unprovoked.”  
            Yussam sneered. “Why would my soldiers attack a servant who did not encourage it? They don’t know this boy.”

            “Lieutenant General, you may leave now,” said the older cleric. “The clergy will handle the rest of this.”

            Yussam vanished with a grunt of disapproval. Elder Hassad couldn’t help but glare at the spot he had vacated. If the Mulli saw _him_ fit for promotion, then this whole empire wasn’t going to last a century.

            “You have much nerve, to speak to him the way you do,” said the younger cleric. “He _is_ Lieutenant General, and his father once advised the caliph.”

            “I’m sure the two are not entirely unrelated,” Elder Hassad grumbled. “No soldier, Mulli-by-blood or no, is superior to a respected Elder, so he can choke on that if he likes.” He turned to Asan, still huddled on the floor. “As for Asan, when will this punishment take place?”

            “Tomorrow morning, if possible.”

            “Will he stay here for the night?”

            “Yes.”

            Elder Hassad nodded. “Very well. I should like to stay here as well. It’s a long way back to my house, and I’m not much without my servant anyway. I do vouch that he is normally a good, humble servant. I’m not sure what madness incensed him to do this.”

            “It is how servants are,” the older cleric said. “Sometimes they forget themselves. Tomorrow he will be reminded.”

            Elder Hassad nodded. “I suppose he will.”


	17. Calligraphy

 Asan was locked in a room and fed nothing, but that didn’t bother him as much as the mystery of his fate. He hadn’t a chance to speak to Elder Hassad before he was taken from the room and thrown into this one. He spent most of the night awake and terrified, certain that he was to be beheaded the next morning, at least if that Mulli officer had anything to say about it. Asan had known him as cruel the moment he looked at the man’s face. Asan feared him most of all.

            The next morning, Asan was taken from the room and undressed by two burly servants who then pulled him into a courtyard. Asan wasn’t sure how many courtyards were in this place, but this one seemed like the least inviting. There was a thick post in the center, about as tall as three men and just as wide. Directly beneath it was a metal drain and a bucket. As Asan was drawn closer, he noticed some of the cobblestones were stained red. Panic flared inside of him, and he fought the servants with all the strength he could muster. But they were much more sturdy opponents than the soldiers from yesterday, and they had little trouble dragging him over to the post and tying his arms around its girth.  

            Craning his head back, Asan saw several clerics standing in the hallway encircling the courtyard, including Elder Hassad. Asan met his gaze, trying to understand why Elder Hassad had allowed this. What had Asan done so wrong that he deserved this? Why hadn’t he been given a chance to explain himself? Was he going to die? Wasn’t he a good servant? Wasn’t Elder Hassad going to teach him how to read?

            Asan couldn’t keep from crying in terror, because he was certain he was going to die. He wished Raheed were here more than anything, because Raheed would stop this. Raheed had saved him from the quarry. It was time for him to do so again.

            A shirtless man wearing black trousers stepped forward, his wrists encased by thick leather bands. In his hands he held a coiled whip, and Asan understood. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been beaten before. People in Khafa had done it, and the foreman at the quarry had done it. But this was different, because he wasn’t alone. He’d thought that Elder Hassad would provide some sort of protection, that he cared enough about Asan to do something.

            Asan wept more from betrayal than anything else. When the lash fell, he wasn’t ready for it and screamed. His fingers dug into the weathered wood of the post as he attempted to muffle his cries against it. It worked for a few more lashes, but soon the skin broke open and his screams started again. He didn’t care if it made him look weak. He wanted Elder Hassad to know exactly what he had condemned Asan to. Maybe it was the only way he could make the old man feel any remorse at all.

            Asan didn’t count the lashings, but there might have been twenty or so. Then someone tossed a bucketful of water on his back and untied him.

            That was it.

            The clerics dispersed, as did the man with the whip. Soon it was just Asan slumped by the whipping post and Elder Hassad under the shade of the veranda, watching him.

            Asan curled his legs against his chest and pressed his face into his knees. His sobbing only faltered when he felt a hand on the top of his head. He looked up into Elder Hassad’s eyes.

            “Come,” Elder Hassad said. He dropped a pale cloak next to Asan.

            Crying out in pain, Asan unfolded his limbs and stood. He pulled the cloak around his waist as clothing, then hobbled after Elder Hassad barefoot. Neither of them stopped or looked at one another until they reached the gate, where a donkey cart and its driver stood. Together, they climbed up onto the hay bedding and set out for home.

 

* * *

 

            Asan muffled a cry into his pillow as Elder Hassad cleaned a gash between Asan’s shoulder blades. Tears squeezed out of his eyes, but he wiped them away and tried to endure the pain as emotionlessly as possible. Elder Hassad might have spoke, but Asan didn’t look at him. Messenger was curled up at Asan’s side, licking him whenever he groaned or sobbed. Asan was once again reminded that humans would never have the kindness and compassion of animals. He wished he could just disappear into the desert with his own small flock of mismatched creatures and never see anyone human again.

            It was slow going because of Elder Hassad’s gnarled hands, but eventually Asan’s wounds were cleaned and bandaged, and he was allowed to sit. Asan wanted to spend the rest of the day curled up in bed, dwelling on his hatred of everyone, but he doubted Elder Hassad would let him. He was shocked when Elder Hassad said, “Take the day off.”

            _I can work_ , Asan replied stubbornly.

            “No.” Elder Hassad pointed to the bed. “You rest. I will send a message to Bhada. Perhaps he will cook something for both of us.”

            Asan hadn’t the energy to fight, so he lied back down on his bed and dug his face into his pillow. Within moments, he was asleep.

 

* * *

 

            It was dark out when Asan awoke. He was shocked to a sit when the door opened. At first he thought the stooped figure was Bhada, but it was Elder Hassad, carrying a glass of water and a small bowl of what looked like lentils in broth, with a side of bread. He set both on the windowsill near Asan’s bed.

            “You’d best eat and get your strength back.”

            Asan considered protesting to be a pain, but was too hungry to do so. He sat up and began to consume what Elder Hassad had brought him. He thought Elder Hassad might leave immediately, but instead he sat down at Asan’s side, his frame growing and shrinking with a sigh.

            “They wanted to throw you in prison, Asan.”

            Asan paused, his chewing slowed.

            “I did what I had to. I assume you’d prefer a beating to five years in a jail cell.”

            Asan frowned as he set aside his food to answer, _I deserved neither_.

            “Tell me what happened.”

            So Asan did. Oddly, the only time tears came to his eyes was when he described the destruction of the books. He didn’t know how to read, but he’d seen the beautiful pictures in some of Elder Hassad’s texts. He wanted so desperately to comprehend those tales, but considering this mishap, it would be a miracle if Elder Hassad ever let him touch a book again.

            Elder Hassad sighed at the end. “I had figured upon such a story.”

            Asan wiped his arm under his nose, sniffing loudly before returning to his lentils.

            “I don’t think you deserved a beating for what you did, Asan. It is understandable, your reaction. However, laws are not always fair, and usually they are never fair when it comes to servants.”

            _I did nothing wrong. They were destroying those books!_

“I know. Young soldiers can be . . . incorrigible. I have taught many boys who thought themselves saviors, kings, gods. It is how the army binds them all together, unifies them. They all come from very different lands, speaking very different languages. Something must bring them together, and it’s usually a fierce love for their empire and its superiority. They come from the same places as servants, yet think themselves better.”

            _Raheed is not like that_.

            “No. They aren’t all like that. But many are, and it is something a servant must learn to deal with.”

            _What should I have done_?

            “Nothing. That is what you should have done. Books are just books. They can be replaced.”

            _I was defending myself._

“They might have kicked you a few times before they grew bored. It is better than a beating, is it not?”

            Asan frowned down at his lentils. _It is unfair_.

            “Yes. It is. There’s nothing that can be done about that.” Elder Hassad stood. “I did what I had to for you, Asan. They wanted to punish you, and nothing I said would have changed that. It was only their respect for me that kept you out of jail. I don’t believe you were in the wrong, but sometimes we must compromise what we think is right in order to stay alive. And God sees all. Remember that. Those boys will reap their punishment when they bow at His feet, and as they are soldiers, it probably won’t be long.” Elder Hassad did not look happy to say this like his words might have implied. The last part was said with a bit of a melancholy.

            _Who was that man?_ Asan asked. _The man in the uniform?_ _He looked very important._

“That was Lieutenant General Yussam. You’d best not cross his path again. He is a bitter man with much power at his disposal, the sort to avoid at all costs.”

            Asan nodded, pointing to the bright bruise along his cheekbone. _He did this to me_.

            “I imagine he did.” Elder Hassad lifted a hand and placed his thumb gently on the skin bordering the bruise, a touch uncharacteristically gentle. “Let us pray you don’t run across him again.”

            Asan nodded, and Elder Hassad withdrew his hand. Asan motioned to stand, as Elder Hassad looked rather shaky on his legs, but Elder Hassad waved him back and crossed the room in his own time. When he was gone, Asan lied on his stomach and watched the flame flicker on the oil lamp. If he ignored the burning of his wounds, he was able to drift into a sort of shiftless sleep, waking occasionally and believing shadows in the corners to be men. This continued until he swore he saw a much more familiar figure in the doorway. Raheed? What was Raheed doing here?

            Raheed glided forward, his features fuzzy and only partly as Asan remembered them. His eyebrows cast dark shadows over his eyes, leaving them hidden. Asan wasn’t sure whether to be afraid or to be thankful, but he reached out a hand anyway. Raheed moved around it and sat at Asan’s side, his eyes finally coming into focus. They still seemed off, but Asan was too happy to care. He lifted a hand to Raheed’s chest, trying to convince himself that the soldier was really there. Raheed just smiled sadly and took Asan’s hand in his. His palms were cold and sweaty.

            _I miss you_ , Asan said, but not with his hands. He said it with his mind.

             Raheed seemed to understand, because Raheed didn’t lift his hands to reply _I miss you too_.

            Asan was filled with joy at communicating so effortlessly. He couldn’t wait to tell Elder Hassad that he’d found a new way to talk. It was so easy, why hadn’t they realized it before?

            _What happened to you?_ Raheed asked.

            _I was punished. I just wanted those boys to stop touching my books._

Raheed nodded, and Asan wondered who had told him the story, as he seemed to already know about it. _I’m proud of you. You did the right thing._ Then Raheed reached out and placed a hand on Asan’s back. It didn’t hurt at all, and Asan just sighed in appreciation. He wanted to lean his head on Raheed’s chest and forget all about this. Maybe Raheed would take him away and he’d never have to bow his head to a snotty soldier boy again . . .

            Asan woke with a start. When he did, the sun was piercing his window and the birds sang their greeting. He quickly looked around his room, hoping that it hadn’t been a silly dream . . .

            Asan dropped his head into his folded arms with a moan of disappointment. Raheed wasn’t here. Asan didn’t even know if Raheed was _alive_. When Asan lifted his head, he noticed Messenger standing in the doorway, panting and wagging his tail. Asan couldn’t help but grin and invite him closer. Messenger was not Raheed, but he was the only person (well, animal)that Asan really wanted to see today. 

 

* * *

 

            Within two days, Asan was well enough to do light work, which he thought he might resent but two days of lying around his bedroom made him restless. Once he was told to get up and make breakfast, he did so with jubilation. He was still sore and swollen, but it felt good to be useful again. He didn’t want Elder Hassad to find a reason to toss him out; working seemed the best way to prove his worth. After all the trouble he caused at the barracks, he was waiting for Elder Hassad to bring home a new boy, one more trained in the Mulli ways. But Elder Hassad was his usual self at breakfast and made no implications that Asan was going to be replaced or even punished past the lashing at the barracks. Once more, they slipped into a comfortable routine.

            By nightfall, Asan was called into Elder Hassad’s study. He was shocked to find several of the books Elder Ihad had given him on Elder Hassad’s lap.

            “Elder Ihad was very upset to see these books in such a state. Directly after you were shut away to be punished, I went to him and explained what had happened. He was very understanding and told me that I could have them if you were to repair them.”

            Asan took the pages that Elder Hassad handed him and looked through them. The simple characters grew more complicated as the pile deepened, but Asan still wanted to learn them all. _I will fix them_ , he told Elder Hassad.

            “I have no doubt that you will. It wasn’t you who destroyed them. Once they are repaired, we will start you on calligraphy. How does that sound?”

            Asan nodded eagerly. _I’d like that very much_.

            Elder Hassad’s mouth carried a ghost of a smile as he handed Asan a needle and thread. “Here you are. Do what you can, and we’ll start.”

            Elder Hassad spent the next hour rifling through his texts as Asan sewed the pages back onto their cover. He’d much prefer to sew fabric, as it did not tear so easily, but he was also more interested in what the pages had to offer, so he moved carefully and paid strict attention to detail. A few times he asked Elder Hassad about the sequence, and Elder Hassad assisted him. Once the books were in order, Elder Hassad agreed to flip through them to check that everything was done to his standards.

            “Very good,” he said finally, shutting the cover of the last one. “It is late, so I fear we won’t have time for much, but maybe a short lesson will do.”

            Asan nodded eagerly.

            Elder Hassad flipped to the first page, then handed Asan an inkwell and pen. This one was different than the quill Elder Hassad used. The handle was made from wood and the tip from a sheer metal. It must have required some rather impressive craftmanship in order to make.

            “You may keep this pen if you like so that you may practice whenever you have free time.” Elder Hassad gave Asan a blanket sheet of scrap parchment. “Experiment a little. See what you can do.”

            Asan dipped the pen into the ink, glancing at Elder Hassad for affirmation. Elder Hassad nodded and gestured Asan to continue. So Asan put the pen to the paper and began to scribble as he would with charcoal. The pen felt very different and did not give like the charcoal, making his lines rather uneven. But with some more scribbling, he realized that the angle of the tip adjusted the thickness of the line, as well as the angle at which he held the shaft. It was only when he was able to draw a single line with varied thickness that Elder Hassad began to intrude and teach him proper technique.

            They weren’t able to start on any real calligraphy by the end of the night, but Asan was excited by the prospect, which made it easier to forget about the barracks, the soldier boys, and the eerie dream of Raheed’s return. 

           

* * *

 

            It took five months of daily lessons before Elder Hassad was pleased enough with Asan’s calligraphy to teach him actual reading and writing. At first it was easy, because all of the twenty-eight characters were familiar to him. He had traced them thousands of times over, knew their exact dimensions and angles. But when Elder Hassad began to explain that written words were parallel to the sounds made to create them, Asan began to grow confused. After all, he’d never _heard_ a word, making it rather hard to sound it out. Perhaps this was why Elder Hassad had taught him how to draw the characters first, so that he might recognize more by sight than by sound. Of course, this was before Elder Hassad even elaborated upon the true mechanics behind the alphabet, including how letters could be written in four different ways, depending on where they fell in a sentence. So much of it was based on _speech_ that Asan began to panic and wonder if he could ever understand it.

            “With practice and repetition, you will learn,” Elder Hassad insisted. “Thousands of boys have learned before you, and so shall you.”

            _None of those boys were deaf like me_ , Asan replied.

            Elder Hassad shrugged. “One difference is all. You will learn.”

            Asan wasn’t sure if he should be flattered by Elder Hassad’s faith in him, but it did help, especially when Asan was feeling particularly stupid. Sometimes Asan would take hours to grasp a simple concept, and almost daily he waited for Elder Hassad to toss him out and give up. But Elder Hassad was nothing if not stubborn, and he kept with Asan, repeating himself again and again until Asan understood. Some nights they remained in Elder Hassad’s study so late that the lamps burned all of their oil. It was during these nights that Asan finally realized why Raheed had praised his teacher so. It wasn’t because Elder Hassad was a particularly kind or compassionate man, nor that he was a particularly devoted or charitable cleric. Elder Hassad taught with such a frightening passion and endless patience, correcting Asan’s mistakes without a single reprimand and praising the occasional victory. When Asan was near tears over his inability to understand, Elder Hassad fought him, insisting that it was possible, that he _would_ understand with time, that Asan was neither stupid nor incapable.

            Before, Asan had no strong feelings about Elder Hassad either way. He considered him a fair master but felt little loyalty or attachment. After long nights spent learning in Elder Hassad’s study, Asan grew fiercely attached. Elder Hassad didn’t always act like he cared, but when Asan held a book in his hand under Elder Hassad’s full attention, it was obvious he did. No man would suffer through confusing, frustrating nights like those with a mere servant unless he truly wanted Asan to succeed.

            And succeed he did.


	18. Samid

 

            Asan had been given the day off, which was unusual but not unwelcome. After fixing Elder Hassad a quick lunch, he took off through the front gate, Messenger trotting at his side. Messenger was full-grown now, though he stayed rather short and heavy-set, fitting perfectly in the curve behind Asan’s knees when they slept together at night.

            Asan hadn’t forgotten to take the basket of bread to Bhada’s old residence for his son and children. After Bhada’s death, Elder Hassad insinuated that perhaps Bhada’s son was not doing as well as he claimed. He had been injured digging wells and it hindered his ability to work, leaving only the mother of their children to work as a washer woman. Asan had only met her once, since she was always down by the river, scraping her knuckles to the bone.

            Bhada’s son, Ghazi, opened the gate, two children swarming around his legs. He took the basket of bread with a grateful smile, performing several bows as he did so. Asan didn’t like it when others bowed at him, as he didn’t want anyone to feel subservient. But he allowed it and returned Ghazi’s smile. The children pet and kissed Messenger, who reveled in the attention. They even attempted to make hand gestures at Asan, none of which made any sense. Asan appreciated their efforts, however, and gave them each a date, which Elder Hassad always called “desert candy”. It still made him sad to see the house without Bhada there to greet him. He had passed on six months ago, but Asan still missed him. He wished he’d had something of Bhada’s to hold onto, to remember him by. He supposed Ghazi’s gap-toothed grin would have to suffice.

            After taking the bread to Ghazi and his children, Asan sprinted in the opposite direction, headed for his favorite place: the sea.

 

* * *

 

            There were parts of the city Asan had never been to, mostly parts that Elder Hassad had warned him about. Asan stayed away from the dangerous places, as well as the wealthy neighborhoods, as Asan remained very wary of any merchant or Mulli noble. He’d take a criminal over a sheikh any day.

            One place that Elder Hassad had mentioned was the southern docks, but he wouldn’t say why it was a place to avoid, so Asan’s curiosity got the best of him. He figured it was in a southern direction, and the _docks_ implied water. All he had to do was follow along the beach and hope he reached something.

            The shanties and boathouses began to morph into much larger, more substantial structures, and there were no more men gutting fish or plucking the legs from crabs. What grew more bountiful as he continued along the boardwalk were _women_ , and not the sort that Asan normally saw in the market.

            He began to realize why Elder Hassad might advise against this place.

            Asan was not a child, but he knew he hadn’t the experience with women as most soldiers did by his age. In fact, Asan hadn’t so much as cast an admiring glance after a woman on the street, though the occasional sweaty man . . . well . . . Either way, Asan didn’t know much about what one would do with a woman in bed, nor a man. Elder Hassad wasn’t the one to ask, as he was sworn to celibacy when he took his vows at the temple. Even if Elder Hassad knew anything about it, he wouldn’t tell Asan. Such would be see as obscene, which didn’t make Asan any less curious. In fact, it made him want to know _more_. He browsed many of Elder Hassad’s books but found nothing more than a chaste kiss. Asan assumed more lewd poetry existed, but he wouldn’t find it in Elder Hassad’s house. The best person to ask would be Raheed, and of course Raheed was still gone, nearly three years later after his departure.

            Curious, Asan moved from the boardwalk to the street, watching several women pass. It was daylight so there wasn’t much activity, but the women wore such loud garments, like vivid orange headdresses and sashes decorated with thin gold-leaf coins. They spoke and laughed in public here, a sight Asan was not accustomed to. Usually they were hidden behind closed windows or doors, and if they weren’t, they were usually wearing heavy veils in the marketplace. These women did not cover their faces, and sometimes they didn’t even cover their hair or arms. Asan assumed he was supposed to lust after them even more now, but he still felt rather indifferent about all of it. He enjoyed looking at them though, in all their bright-colored dresses and made-up faces. Some of them held out a hand to him with a smile, but he just shrugged and shook his head before moving on. He hadn’t any money on him anyway, even if he were interested.

            The southern docks turned out to be much longer than he expected, so he decided he should probably turn around and head back. But then he stopped and looked down a narrow alley when he caught a flicker of movement. There was someone climbing over a tall white wall, a woman in a sheer black gown and slippers with pointed toes. Asan couldn’t help but watch, but when she saw him doing so, she froze on top of the wall. He threw up his hands, feigning innocence. Then she dropped to the alley below, losing her balance and crashing to the cobblestone.

            Asan rushed forward to help her, but she was already halfway to a stand by the time he reached her. She pushed away his offered hand and adjusted the veil over her hair. It had slipped to expose her thick, black hair, as well as most of her face. Asan’s heart wasn’t set on fire by beautiful women, but he could still recognize one when he saw one.

            To his shock, someone was following her over the wall, this time a man. Asan thought he might be chasing her, but she reached up to help him down to the alley below. He too was dressed in black, though he merely wore a short vest over his chest, revealing the skin of his abdomen and arms. He wore the same impractical slippers as the woman.

            The woman turned to Asan and spoke. Asan could read lips rather well by now, so he understood her to say, “Are you going to tell on us?”

            Asan pursed his lips and shook his head. What did they think he was, some sort of government official? Apparently his expression of denial was amusing, because the woman’s companion laughed.

            “You’re a servant,” the man said, giving Asan a quick once-over.

            Asan nodded. The man had to be a servant too, as he lacked a beard.

            “Let’s _go_ , Samid,” the woman ordered.

            “In a moment, Malli.” He shook her off, then turned back to Asan. “Do you know the way to the northern market?”

            Asan nodded again. He went to the northern market all the time. It was one of the largest ones in the city; one could find all sorts of odd treasures there.

            “Can you take us?” Samid asked, eyes wide and pleading. Asan felt a hot blush on the back of his neck. It was not a customary reaction, but Samid _was_ very handsome, especially since he lacked a full shirt.

            Malli slapped Samid’s arm and muttered something that Asan could not read.

            “Of course we can trust him. He’s just a servant.”

            Malli turned cautious eyes to Asan, who only shrugged and held up his hands, a gesture of good intent. He really did want to take them to the northern market, even if they probably weren’t allowed to do so. He so rarely interacted with others outside of Elder Hassad, especially others under the age of fifty.

            “I don’t know,” Malli said, re-wrapping her veil about her head to hide her hair.

            “We can trust you, can’t we?” Samid asked, reaching out to briefly place a hand on Asan’s shoulder. Asan shivered slightly at the touch, and he believed Samid noticed. A rather feral smile crossed his face.

            Asan nodded again.

            “Do you talk or what?” Malli asked.

            Asan shook his head.

            “See? He couldn’t tell on us anyway.” Samid rushed forward and looped an arm through Asan’s, ducking to lean his head against Asan’s shoulder while pouting at Malli. Asan tried to look as indifferent as possible, though it was hard when Samid’s grip felt so oddly intimate.

            “Fine. But we’re sticking to the backstreets.”

            Against better judgment, Asan led the way. If Elder Hassad found out . . . well, he wouldn’t. Besides, this wasn’t like before. There were no men of higher status involved, only a woman who was probably a prostitute and another servant. Though Asan wondered what kind of servant could afford slippers like the kind Samid wore.

            Samid tried to talk to Asan, but unless he was facing Asan, Asan found it very difficult to read his lips. He tried to tell Samid he couldn’t hear with his hands. It was a hard concept to explain, but with enough gesturing at his ears, Samid finally seemed to comprehend. 

            “You can’t _hear_?”

            Asan nodded.

            “How do you understand what I say?”

            Asan pointed to his lips.

            “Wow.” Samid turned to Malli, who kept looking over her shoulder and wringing her hands. “Hey, Malli, isn’t that unusual? Have you ever—”

            “I think that man over there knows us. He keeps looking—”

            “—at you? This is an odd thing?”

            Malli tossed a glare at Samid, but Samid just laughed it off and took Asan’s arm again. Asan had never met a man so . . . touchy. Asan didn’t really mind, but it was making him flush, and he didn’t like being made a fool. He tried not to enjoy the touch, but it was very nice nevertheless. The worst part was that it made Asan want to look at Samid, and he already knew that was a bad decision. Samid bared his form like many of the performers in the market, but unlike those men, he was neither old nor rail-thin. He was older than Asan, but not by much. A few years, perhaps.

            After a while, Malli seemed to relax and enjoy herself more, looping her arm through Samid’s until they were walking three abreast. Asan couldn’t help feel a pang of disappointment when he saw Samid touching Malli in the same way he touched Asan, gripping her arm and leaning in to whisper in her ear. Malli seemed to enjoy the attention, bumping her shoulder against his and plucking at Samid’s vest. Clearly they were great friends, making Asan feel left out and slightly jealous. Not so much of Samid and Malli, but of their friendship. Asan wanted that for himself, but it was very hard to make friends with other servants. They were always busy doing other things, as was he. Many of them were not allowed to leave the house without permission. How did a whore and a servant become friends anyway? He would have asked if he could have.

            At last they reached the northern market, and both Malli’s and Samid’s eyes grew wide with wonder. Had they never been to it before? He’d thought most people had.

            “Simply gorgeous,” Samid said, then turned to Asan and hugged him. Asan, who had not been embraced since Raheed left, couldn’t help but stiffen at the contact. In more ways than one.

            Samid pulled back, grinning slyly. He _knew_. Asan froze, petrified and humiliated beyond belief. But Samid only laughed and leaned forward to kiss Asan’s cheek. Asan stepped back just in time, leaving Samid bent over with pursed lips. When Samid realized wht Asan had done, he only sighed and shook his head in disappointment. But he did reach into the pouch at his waist and pull out a silver coin, a half an _imma_.

            “Here,” he said. “For your time.”

            Then he and Malli flounced away, Malli tossing one dazzling smile over her shoulder before they both vanished into the crowd.

            Tucking Samid’s coin into his belt, Asan was rather sure Samid was not a servant. If Raheed returned, Asan would ask him if there was such a thing as a male whore.

            That is, _when_ Raheed returned.

 

* * *

 

            Even though Elder Hassad had given Asan the day off, he cooked dinner anyway, a simple chickpea soup with flatbread that he served along with lemon tea. He still could not mingle flavors so effortlessly as Bhada or some of the street vendors, but Elder Hassad never complained, and considering how much Elder Hassad complained about things, it made Asan’s culinary skills commendable.

            Asan took the food to Elder Hassad’s study, where he was setting up a chess board.

            _Are we going to play_? Asan asked after setting down Elder Hassad’s tray.

            “Yes,” Elder Hassad said, then held a fist to his mouth to cough. Asan never liked to see Elder Hassad cough, as he recalled Bhada’s condition worsening as his coughing did. But Elder Hassad only pounded his chest with a fist and returned sharp eyes to Asan. “After you eat. You cannot focus on an empty stomach.”

            So Asan returned to the kitchen to get his own bowl of soup and bread, then joined Elder Hassad in his study and sat on the other side of the chess board. Once Asan had grown rather adept at backgammon, Elder Hassad decided to teach him chess, which Asan enjoyed even more. Chess was one more thing that servants weren’t supposed to know—it was considered too intellectual, not good for the servile mind—but Elder Hassad didn’t seem to care what was appropriate when it occurred within his own walls. Out on the streets, Elder Hassad was very strict about Asan’s behavior and mannerisms, but inside the house, Asan’s bows were half-hearted and Elder Hassad waved away pleasantries with an expression of impatience.

            Asan was not yet very proficient at chess, but he did put up a good fight. There were a few times he nearly fooled Elder Hassad, but the old man eventually predicted Asan’s plans and thwarted him. Still. It was exciting to think that Asan might win a game some day. Elder Hassad promised him another day off if that were to happen.

            The game continued for an hour before they were locked in a stalemate, and Elder Hassad decided it an opportune time to get some sleep. With Asan’s assistance, the old cleric climbed to a stand. He relied more heavily on his cane these days, and he didn’t travel unless it was in a cart. Asan was comforted by the fact that Elder Hassad’s mind still seemed as clear as the summer Ayllamal skies.

            After helping Elder Hassad dress and slip into bed, Asan headed for his own room but was stopped by Messenger, who blocked his way to the staircase. He was looking in the direction of the gate, droopy ears perked.

            _A visitor_? Asan wondered. It was beyond any conventional visiting hour, even for Ayllamal. Perhaps it was an emergency. Or perhaps it was a robber. There was a reason household walls were built so tall.

            Asan went to the kitchen to grab a knife before proceeding to the gate. Messenger stood near his feet, looking from Asan to the gate as if waiting for Asan’s cue.

            Asan unlocked the latch and pulled back the door, trying to hold the knife at ready without making it look like he was doing so, in case the visitor was a harmless beggar asking for a few coins.

            When Asan saw who stood before him, the knife dropped to the dirt, forgotten.

            Raheed had returned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone read that story about those guys banned from Saudi Arabia for being too handsome? I don't know if the pictures of the one guy are actually accurate, but [this guy](http://static.neatorama.com/images/2013-04/omar-borkan-al-gala.jpg) can totally chill with me if he likes. He can bring his camel/falcon/whatever animal he takes pictures with.
> 
> Since reading that story, I see him as Raheed, cuz Raheed is too sexy for Saudi Arabia. Or any country, really.


	19. The Captain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My story is best read when listening to [this soundtrack. ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9oojYPCeyRE). GOOD STUFF.

**Part Five**

 

            Raheed had considered stopping at an inn for the night instead of continuing to Elder Hassad’s, especially since the hour was so late and Raheed was so exhausted, but he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep anyway, not without seeing Elder Hassad and Asan first. So he continued on, hoping his equally exhausted horse would carry him a few miles further.

            Foolishly, he had expected that little would change. Raheed couldn’t recall Elder Hassad looking any different than he did at the age of sixty, save a few more wrinkles and grayer hair. He’d been expecting something similar with Asan, but he wasn’t prepared for the man that opened the gate. Because that’s exactly what Asan had become—a man. He stood nearly as tall as Raheed now, almost as thick too. It was dark, but there was some light from the street to see by. Asan had no beard—not as a servant—but he looked plenty capable of growing one. His hair had grown longer, falling in lackadaisical waves down his neck, mostly hiding his ears and forehead. He had arms and shoulders carved by work, though Raheed assumed it was the forgiving, domestic kind. His fairer skin spoke of the time he spent indoors, unlike Raheed’s complexion, which was now a rather burnt sienna after years spent in the desert.

            Raheed had left Asan malnourished, wiry, boyish. Now anyone would struggle to imagine Asan as being such. Whatever Elder Hassad had fed Asan during Raheed’s absence, it had certainly put weight on him.

            Raheed had planned a bit of a speech upon his return, but now he just stared dumbly, so taken aback by Asan’s appearance, mostly because it hadn’t _felt_ like he was gone so long. But he must have been, because Asan had grown up entirely without him.

            Asan was staring wide-eyed, face mostly blank save its incredulity. At least Raheed wasn’t the only one shocked stupid.

            He finally cleared his throat and tried his best smile. “Asan, you’re—well. Look at you!”

            Asan continued to stare.

            “Is there something on my face?” Raheed joked, moving his hands as best as he could while holding his horse’s reins.

            Asan took a step forward, then hesitated and stepped back. To Raheed’s absolute shock, he _bowed_ and held out a hand for the reins. Raheed had fully expected a tackling hug, if not at least a warm embrace.

            “Uh.” Raheed looked down at the reins in his hand, then tossed them away and pulled Asan into a powerful hug.

            Asan stiffened for a moment, then went completely slack in Raheed’s embrace, his arms eventually rising to wrap around Raheed’s torso. To Raheed’s satisfaction, he then dug his face into Raheed’s shoulder, fingers sinking deeper into Raheed’s armor. Asan breathed in sharply, almost as if he were about to sob. But when Raheed pulled him back to look at him up close, Asan’s eyes were dry.

            Raheed held Asan’s face in his hands. “You look so different! I barely recognized you!” In his enthusiasm, he forgot to sign, but it would have been hard anyway, holding Asan’s face as he was.

            Asan didn’t seem to have trouble understanding though. He just gave Raheed a guarded smile and gestured to his chin. It took Raheed a moment to realize that Asan was pointing out Raheed’s beard.

            “Ah. Yes. I was promoted again. Uh, I’m a captain now.” Finally Raheed let go of Asan and took a step back, unable to keep a grin from his face. “It’s good to see you, Asan.” He signed this time. “So good to see you.”

            Asan nodded, pressing his lips firmly together. _I was worried you wouldn’t come back_.

            “I promised you, didn’t I?” Raheed glanced over his shoulder at the empty street. “May I come in?”

            Asan stepped aside and then leaned over to snatch the horse’s reins from off the ground. For a second Raheed swore the smile Asan tossed at the horse was more genuine than the one he’d given Raheed.

            _Is she yours?_ Asan asked happily, already petting her neck and dragging his fingers through her mane.

            “Yes. Her name is Ahmbra. I bought her shortly after I left Ayllamal.”

            Asan pulled her into the courtyard, then darted over to close the gate behind them. When he returned, he said, _Elder Hassad is sleeping. I will get a bed ready for you and take care of . . . how do you spell her name_?

            Raheed almost asked what was the point of spelling it if Asan couldn’t read, but then Asan’s gaze didn’t waver and Raheed realized that Asan _could_ read. God, what else had changed since his departure?

            Raheed spelled out her name, though they didn’t have signs for letters, so he didn’t know how much use it was going to be. To his disbelief, Asan repeated them back, making foreign signs for each letter.

            “What are those?” Raheed asked.

            _They are gestures Elder Hassad and I created for letters_ , Asan replied, as if nothing were odd about this at all. _I will teach you later_.

            Raheed couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. Asan and Raheed’s “secret” language wasn’t much of a secret anymore. Even worse, Elder Hassad probably knew it better than him by now. Raheed hadn’t had much practice with it in a while.

            Asan told Raheed to go upstairs and get himself situated in a room while Asan unpacked the horse. But Raheed was very particular about his horse, so he stayed with Asan and taught him how to untack and brush her down properly, as she was much different than a common camel. She wasn’t one of the finest horses in the land, but she wasn’t a cart pony either. Asan seemed to recognize this and handled her very gently, though Ahmbra didn’t seem impressed by the treatment. She hit Asan in the face several times with her tail, which made Raheed laugh and Asan blush. He was probably used to animals prefering him; having one sass him must be new.

             After unpacking Ahmbra and making sure she was comfortable for the night with water and food, Asan and Raheed lugged Raheed’s saddle and other belongings up the stairs to one of the spare bedrooms. The house was immaculate, all the lamps filled to the brim with oil, some of the chipped plaster along the windows repaired. Raheed couldn’t help but be impressed by Asan’s oversight of the house. Clearly he was not an idle servant.

            Asan took Raheed to a room but barely stayed a moment before darting back out. When he returned, he carried more blankets and cushions, perhaps some that he had pulled from storage. He dumped them onto the bare mat in the corner, situating everything and lighting the lamps in the busiest way possible. Raheed wasn’t sure if he was purposely avoiding Raheed or if it just seemed that way.

            What Raheed really wanted was a bath, but at this time of night he’d settle for a soft place to sleep. He wasn’t due to report back to the barracks until tomorrow afternoon, so he planned to sleep as long as he liked, something he hadn’t done in years.

            Asan ran from one end of the room to the other, placing Raheed’s saddle bags in a neat pile in the corner before situating the saddle in a way that would eliminate the risk of the tile scratching the soft leather. Raheed was just about to grab his shoulder to slow him down, but Asan was out the door again, probably to retrieve something else.

            With a sigh, Raheed removed his helmet and the layers of cloth that protected its rim. By the time Asan had returned, Raheed’s head was bare and his ragged red cloak was in a heap on the floor. Raheed and his fellow officers had arrived in the city in full uniform, a way of provoking fanfare and Mulli pride over their northern victories. But Raheed was sure he might pass out if he had to carry around this damn chestplate and chainmail another second.

            “Asan.” Raheed took Asan’s shoulder in his hand, stopping Asan’s flurry of movement.  “Can you help me with this?”

            Asan didn’t seem to understand what _this_ was until Raheed gestured to his rattan armor. Then his eyes widened and he turned away, looking sheepish.

            “What?” Raheed asked.

            Asan hastily signed, _nothing_ before untying the leather guards strapped to Raheed’s arms. Raheed unbuckled his sheath and sword, letting it drop to the floor with a loud clatter. He regretted that upon remembering that Elder Hassad was sleeping elsewhere.

            Raheed inhaled with relief as the chestplate was removed. Nothing felt better than slipping out of that contraption. It had saved him several times on the battlefield, but it didn’t mean he had to enjoy wearing it. After his chestplate came his chainmail, which Asan lifted as Raheed ducked out from underneath. Once he was out of that, Raheed felt as light as a feather. He almost believed that he could jump out a window and get carried away on a breeze.

            Raheed moaned his approval and flopped down onto the bed that Asan had prepared for him. He was still sweaty and covered in a thin layer of sand and dirt, but sleep beckoned oh so sweetly. He smiled happily up at Asan, who was still holding the chainmail, looking uncertain.

            “It’s good to be home,” Raheed said softly, tipping his head back against a pillow. “Oh God, is it good.”

            Asan once again raced about, picking Raheed’s weapons and armor off the floor and attempting to put them neatly beside the saddle, keeping his eyes off of Raheed. Raheed watched Asan from behind, wondering why Asan seemed so flustered. He could withhold affection to get his way at times, but he’d never been so . . . withdrawn. Asan was being uncharacteristically reserved, and it made Raheed suspicious.

            “Asan.” Raheed frowned, realizing Asan’s back was to him. He resisted the urge to shout Asan’s name louder to get his attention and simply reached down and snatched up a pillow to throw at him. Asan jerked upright and turned when the pillow hit his shoulder.

            “Go to my saddle,” Raheed said, pointing to the bags across the room. “The left bag. Open it and pull out the piece of wadded cloth in there.”

            Asan did as he was bid, lowering himself to his knees by the saddle and digging inside its contents. Finally he pulled forth a crumpled ball of cloth, holding it aloft for Raheed.

            “There’s something inside it.”

            Asan began to unfold the cloth until he reached the small trinket it contained. Pulling it out, he leaned in close to inspect the vivid green color of the carved stone.

            _What is it_? Asan asked.

            “Jade. It’s a type of stone they have up in the north.”

            _How do you spell it_?

            Raheed spelled it aloud, forgetting all the letters Asan had used before. Asan seemed to comprehend, because he repeated the spelling again, this time with gestures. His graze dropped back to the trinket.

            _It is a camel._

“Yes. I figured you’d like that.”

            For the first time, Asan’s smile looked pure and unguarded. He turned the figurine over and over until he finally stood and crossed the room to Raheed’s side. Raheed expected another hug, but intstead Asan fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to his extended hands. For some reason, the gesture made Raheed’s gut twist.

            “Don’t.” Raheed reached forward and touched Asan’s shoulder, making him jerk in surprise. “Come on, don’t bow.”

            _Thank you_ , Asan signed enthusiastically. _It is beautiful._

“Much better than that old Hahnar pin, eh?”

            Asan’s eyes widened at the memory. _I have it still! It is in my room! I can bring it—_

“Not right now, Asan. I think I am going to sleep for a few days.” Raheed collapsed back against the pillows, but turned and gave Asan a lazy, happy smile. “It’s so good to see you again, Asan. All grown up too.”

            Asan’s smile dimmed, but he looked pleased as he ducked his head down and stared at his lap. He turned the camel figurine in his long nimble fingers before signing, _It is good to see you too_ , _Raheed._

Raheed reached out and patted Asan’s shoulder. “I think it’s time you got some rest. We’ll talk more in the morning. Afternoon. Whenever I feel like rising.” He chuckled and briefly closed his eyes to rest them. Well, that was the plan. But then they didn’t open again, and he was falling backward into the warm and welcoming abyss of sleep.

 

* * *

 

            General Mamid met Raheed at the barracks the next afternoon. This seemed like the usual, but there was another man with him, this one wearing a particularly sour expression. The general introduced him as the lieutenant general, Yussam.

            Raheed considered himself a poor judge of character, but he’d have to be on opium not to see that Yussam was an ominous figure. His entire persona reeked of privilege, a Mulli-by-blood if Raheed had ever seen one. Raheed didn’t seem to be the only one; General Mamid held interactions with his inferior as if there was nothing he wanted more than to end them.

            “I assume you’re staying with Elder Hassad again?” General Mamid asked Raheed after introductions. “You don’t require special arrangements.”

            “No, Elder Hassad’s house should do fine. I can stable my horse here, if that is possible.”

            “Of course.”

            The lieutenant general pursed his lips. He seemed about the same age as General Mamid, but less marked by battle and time. “I shouldn’t be shocked to hear that you’re another one of Elder Hassad’s minions.”

            “Excuse me, sir?” Raheed asked.

            “Seems like the entire institution is sucking his cock,” Yussam grumbled. “How shocking to find that one of Mamid’s favored boys does the same.”

            “Yussam,” General Mamid snapped. “You will not speak that way of an elder.”

            Raheed was shocked that Yussam could address a superior so harshly, but then again, considering Yussam was Mulli-by-blood and General Mamid was not, it could have put them on the same level.

            “I’ll speak as I like about him. He’s not here anymore.”

            After a truly charming conversation with Lieutenant General Yussam, General Mamid and Raheed decided to visit the stables, where his horse would be housed. The stables at the barracks were said to be the finest, so Raheed didn’t worry about Ahmbra’s care. She had suffered stifling desert heat and long grueling days spent at fast paces. Perhaps it was time for her to be spoiled.

            “You’d best avoid the lieutenant general,” General Mamid said as Raheed led his horse down the covered walkway connecting the main buildings to the stables. Her hooves made clicking sounds on the baked cobblestone. “He’s never been a pleasant man.”

            “Seems like a real prick, sir.”

            General Mamid chuckled. Years ago, Raheed never would have muttered such a thing about a superior, and if he’d spent more time in Ayllamal, he probably still wouldn’t. But the desert tended to soften formalities and the respect that came with them. General Mamid favored Raheed for his honesty, and Raheed was growing worse at controlling it.

            “Aye, that he is. Unfortunately, he’s a rather incredible strategist as well as the son of a now-deceased advisor to the caliph. He’s always been rather bitter about being the lieutenant general. He also finds it particularly insulting that I, a _bhanak_ , should hold a higher position than him.”

            “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, how _did_ you come to be general? I thought it was something barred to _bhanak_.”

            “I did it the same way you’re doing it, Raheed.” General Mamid lifted a hand and briefly squeezed Raheed’s shoulder. “I made some powerful friends.”

            At that, he strode off at a more speedy pace. Raheed pulled Ahmbra into a trot in order to catch up.

 

* * *

 

            Raheed didn’t go home that night. He had told Elder Hassad he might be very late, and that could be true. If things went well, however, he might not be back there until tomorrow.

            After saying goodbye to Ahmbra, Raheed left the barracks and headed south, following the sounds of the ocean. By the time he’d reached the southern docks, the sky was dark and all the street lamps were ablaze. Music poured out of every tavern and men of every shape and creed milled about the narrow streets, shouting and laughing and other various din brought about by too much alcohol.

            His first time at the southern docks had been spent gaping at all the buildings, but now Raheed had one destination in mind, and he didn’t so much as glance at the other scents or female flesh that beckoned him. The burly man at the door of the white brothel didn’t recognize him, but he did recognize rank, so he allowed Raheed inside. Unlike last time, Raheed didn’t even bother with the serving girls or any woman who might be writhing in the fountain. He went straight to the courtyards.

            It had been so long since he’d last visited that he thought himself lost for a while. Several girls lingering nearby called out and beckoned him over, but Raheed just shook his head with a humorous smile and continued looking. It felt wonderful to be back here. Even if he was only interested in one whore, it was nice to see so many beautiful women at once, the sort he hadn’t seen since he’d left Ayllamal. He’d partaken in the pleasures of the flesh during his time away—many nights had been _filled_ with wine and giggling women—but this particular place stayed at the back of his mind, occasionally coming to him at night, teasing him. Now that he was a captain, he had a much heavier purse and a greater desire to spend it all.

            He nearly crashed into someone when he rounded a corner, and he reached out to steady them with an instant apology. But his words rushed to a halt when he realized the man was familiar.

            “You.” Raheed pointed at him. “Who are you?”

            “Me?” The man reached up to run a hand through his wavy dark locks, his expression morphing from surprise to seduction. “My name is Samid. What can I do for you tonight, sir?” He leaned forward and tapped Raheed’s chest. “I quite like soldiers.”

            Rolling his eyes, Raheed batted him away. “I’m not interested. Your friend. Malli. Where is she?”

            Samid sighed dramatically, his sultry gaze vanishing in an instant. Clearly he was used to this question. “Malli. Of course. Well.” He twisted around and looked across the courtyard, in the center of which stood a blooming fig tree. “I believe she is with someone else at the moment.”

            “When do you think she’ll be done?”  
            Samid shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not her assistant. She does what she likes.”

            With a groan of frustration, Raheed dug into his pouch of coins and dropped several into the palm that Samid instantly extended.

            “I still don’t know,” Samid replied smugly. “ _But_ I do believe I can find her for you.”

            “Thank you.”

            “Who are you again?”

            “Raheed. We met once. Briefly.”

            “Raheed. Hmmm.” Samid rolled his tongue against his cheek for a moment before shrugging. “Alright then. Stay here. I will try to find her for you.”

            Samid took off. Raheed hoped he hadn’t been scammed out of a few _immas_ , though he wouldn’t be shocked. As much as he’d come to love whores, they were very rarely honest, and they’d tell a man anything in order to open up his pockets.

            Surprisingly, Samid returned several minutes later, looking slightly winded but happy.

            “Come on. I found her.”

            Samid led Raheed back into the house, then up a rickety staircase to the second level, which had another veranda looking out across the courtyards. At the very end of the hallway was an open door, to which Samid gestured.

            “She’s in there.”

            “Thank you. Here’s another _imma_.”

            Samid’s hand closed around the coin, his lips pulled into a smirk. “Thank you, sir.” But Raheed barely heard him, because he was stepping into a room he’d dreamed of entering since he’d met Malli three years ago.

            It was more than a room. It was a small apartment, complete with a few shelves and a squat counter for preparing food. There must have been another room attached, because a door at the far end opened and Malli emerged, hair damp and skin flushed. She was wearing a white robe, belted and knotted at the waist, untied at her throat. Raheed had wondered if he’d feel any different about her this time than last, and he really didn’t. She was still breathtaking, one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Even the scent wafting from her now was pleasant, a blend of spices and citrus. Usually whores smelled of brothels, but this was no ordinary brothel.

            Malli paused, running a towel along her hair. Raheed wondered if perhaps he should have knocked, but she just smiled slowly.

            “Samid said you were eager to see me?”

            “Do you remember me?” Raheed blurted, suddenly feeling like the awkward boy he’d been during his first time.

            Her eyes darted to his feet and then back. “No, I don’t believe so. Should I?”

            “It was a very brief meeting.”

            “I’m sorry, I don’t recall.”

            “Well, I do.” Raheed inhaled sharply. Part of him had wished that she might remember him, but he wasn’t a fool. Who knows how many men she saw every day, and he was not particularly interesting or odd. “I’ve been gone a while, a few years . . . but I couldn’t forget you, so . . . here I am.”

            There was a pause, and then Malli asked, “What is your name?”

            “Raheed.”

            “Raheed.” She pulled the syllables apart slowly, her tongue lingering on every sound as if they were intriguing. “What can I do for you, _Raheed_?”

            “Last time we spoke you said you charged one-twenty.”

            “Two hundred.”

            “You told me one-twenty.”

            For an instant, her flirtatious expression dropped as she thought it over. Raheed would have paid two hundred, but she didn’t know that, and he’d gotten rather good at haggling with brothel women, even overwhelmingly beautiful ones.

            “Hmm.” She tapped her chin and looked him over again, going so far as to walk a slow circle around him, as if _he_ were the one for sale. When she returned to his front, she nodded. “Alright then. One-twenty. For an hour. Does that suit you?”  
            Raheed nodded. “It does.”

            “Excellent.” She held out a hand. “You pay up front.”

            Raheed dug into his pouch and gave her the coins she required. After counting them twice, her inviting gaze was back, eyelashes fluttering and lips pursed. She reached out and began to unpin his cloak from his shoulders.

            “You are some sort of officer,” she murmured, reaching up and tugging at his short beard.

            “Captain,” Raheed replied breathlessly. He’d dreamed often of this moment, but it was at last coming true. He hesitated in touching her, but finally managed to do so, placing his hands gently on her hips. “I’m a captain.”

            “Impressive,” she purred as she began to unbuckle the weapons about his waist. “So these swords are not just for show then.”  
            “No.” Raheed wasn’t going into the details, not here.

            “I’m sure you’re very brave.”

            Raheed reached up and took her arms, startling her. Her fingers dropped the leather belt containing his main scabbard, resulting in a heavy _thunk_ on the tile floor.

            “Don’t,” Raheed warned her firmly.

            “Don’t _what_?” she challenged, looking rather put-out.

            “Don’t put on that act. Empty flattery is less than impressive to me.”

            “Who said it was empty?” She slowly pulled her arms from his grip. “Let me finish undressing you.”

            “I can undress myself. I’d prefer to watch you.”

            She took the order in stride, nodding and then smiling over her shoulder as she turned. “Sit there.” She pointed to the luxurious pile of velvet cushions and silk blankets lying on a raised platform in the corner. “The view’s better.”

            Raheed strode past her and sank down onto the bed, resting his elbows on his knees as his gaze refocused on her. The view was better from down below, closer to the lamps and the sparse moonlight filtering through the window screen. He was glad she showed such little reservation when undressing; the fearful girls were the worst. In fact, Malli kept his gaze the entire time as she untied the criss-cross of laces down the neckline and then unbelted the robe at the waist.  In the dim light it hadn’t been clear, but now it was starkly obvious that the robe was _all_ she wore.

            Raheed inhaled sharply, unable to pull his eyes away. Something tight within him shattered, filling him with a calm relief. He’d spent so long worrying about tomorrow that he couldn’t enjoy the present. Now that he was back in Ayllamal with a woman he’d been thinking of for three years, he felt as if he could finally unravel and enjoy. There had been many whores before Malli, but they’d been mere scratches for an itch, something to take his mind off of the violence and bloodshed of the battle field. Malli was different. Malli was _more_.

            He’d thought that after seeing so many naked women, he’d finally get used to them, but the stirring they caused never dimmed. His reaction to Malli was particularly powerful, but it could be because she had a divine figure, wrapped up in the softest, richest skin Raheed might have ever seen. A small, short gold chain hung from her belly button, her only jewelry outside of the small glittering stones in her ears. Raheed wondered why she ever wore clothing at all; it did her no justice.

            Malli waited patiently, letting him look. Time was what distinguished a cheap whore from an expensive one. An hour felt forever compared to the fifteen minutes some girls gave him. Fifteen minutes, he’d learned, was a very nearly _cruel_ allotment of time for a man older than eighteen.

            “I would say that you’re breathtaking,” Raheed finally said, his voice emerging surprisingly low and steady, “but I’m sure it wouldn’t impress you.”

            “Empty flattery is less than impressive to me,” she said with a cunning smile, and Raheed remembered why he’d spent so much time thinking about her. Clearly she had more than just good looks in her favor.

            “Is there anything I can say that might impress you?” Raheed asked.

            “ _Say_? Not really. But . . .” She moved forward, her robe flowing out behind her. She then knelt in front of him, hands slowly sliding up his thighs and toward his groin. “You can _show_ me something that might impress me.”

            The last woman Raheed had bedded had been rather indifferent, even if she hadn’t been afraid or insecure. Seeing Malli’s interest—even if it was feigned—made his arousal even more obvious. 

            Now that Malli was naked, Raheed let her disrobe him. She began pulling off multiple layers one at a time, as if she enjoyed the process. Her fingers were nimble, her touches light, and occasionally she would lift her gaze to his, as if challenging him to stop her or speed her up. He had no intention of doing either.

            “Oh,” she whispered as she exposed his left shoulder. She lifted a hand to touch the barely healed wound that cut him from his collar bone to his left nipple, but he grabbed her hand before she could do so.

            “It’s nothing,” he muttered.

            “It looks like it hurt.”

            “It did.” He glanced briefly at the cut, then twisted to pull his white shift off completely. When faced with his entire torso, Malli seemed to forget about the hastily stitched sword wound and focus more on the rest of him. She ran both hands from his sternum to the edge of his trousers, humming in appreciation.

            “I do love soldiers,” she sighed, casting a happy glance at him. “The way they’re built.”

            Luckily Raheed had not returned as thin as he’d been last time. Officers’ diets were much heartier than those of foot soldiers, and he’d spent less time wandering about the desert with nothing but a camel. He still trained though, so his body remained taut and fit. It was an odd thing to be proud of, but he couldn’t help it upon seeing the approval in Malli’s eyes.

            Finally Malli helped him remove his boots and trousers, leaving him as naked as her. She might have spent more time touching him, but their hour would be gone in a blink if they spent the whole time looking at one another. He appreciated the time and effort Yuva had given him long ago, but these days he was less enthralled by it.

            He grabbed Malli around the waist and jerked her against him, kissing her full on the mouth. For a moment she tensed in surprise, but she quickly melted against him, shifting so that she had a more comfortable position in his lap. She reached between them and slid her fingers up his length, teasing. He lightly bit her bottom lip and tugged. She moaned and kissed him harder. He didn’t care if it was fake, because it was just what he needed to hear.

            He pulled back just enough so that she toppled from his lap and landed on her back. For a second he saw something like annoyance cross her face, but it was gone by the time Raheed put his lips to her throat.

            “Aren’t you going to fuck me?” she asked lightly, running her hands through his hair as his mouth dipped lower to her collar bone.

            “I can _fuck_ anyone,” he whispered against her skin, which not only felt wonderful but tasted delicious. He lifted his gaze briefly to meet hers. “But I paid for a beautiful woman, and I fully intend to worship her properly before the fucking.”

            Malli chuckled breathily, sighing in approval when Raheed kissed along the side of her breast. When he looked at her, one side of her mouth was quirked, her eyes closed.

            “Mm, worship away then,” she said, her fingers digging deeper into his hair as his head lowered. That was one thing she had in common with other women—they really seemed to love his hair.

            Raheed had moods when it came to brothels. Sometimes after a particularly brutal conflict, he just wanted to curl up and put his head in someone’s lap. When he was bored—a common occurrence when abroad—he was much more interested in raw fucking. Now he seemed to be wavering between the two extremes. He didn’t see why his good, peaceful mood should keep him from the fucking, but he also didn’t want a meaningless encounter with a stranger. Tonight he really wanted to enjoy Malli, and perhaps she’d enjoy him as well. There was a reason he was so often a favorite at brothels. None of his colleagues knew much about charming women, but Raheed knew a few tricks of the lips, only a few of which were talking.

            With his head between her legs, Raheed was a bit startled by the suddenly firm grip Malli kept on his head, almost as if holding him there. When he pulled back, she immediately let go, her expression shocked, as if she’d forgotten herself. Then her smile was back, that one so secretive and coy that Raheed began to doubt it was real.

            “How much time do we have left?” Raheed asked.

            “I don’t . . . know,” she whispered, face flushed. She gulped loudly and pushed back some of the hair that sweat had glued to her face.

            “Enough time for this?” Raheed sank a finger between her legs, and she chuckled wetly.

            “I suppose.” Her smirk was back. “Because I like you so much.”

            Raheed grinned. He was used to that answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to show that both Asan and Raheed had significantly changed in three years, with Asan being far more reserved and Raheed being so much more confident with women (he likes whores. A lot). I hope this was communicated well.
> 
> *sniff* My boys, all grown up . . .


	20. Whores

             Raheed had gotten a key to the front gate of Elder Hassad’s house, so he was able to let himself in and slink to his bedroom for some much-needed rest. In the moments before sleep claimed him, his mind dwelled on Malli, so much that he began to wonder what was wrong with him. She was too expensive to see every night or even every week, but he couldn’t wait to see her again.

            Raheed was late to rise the next morning, so breakfast was finished by the time he made his way downstairs. Instead he came across Asan on his hands and knees, washing the veranda floor. His tunic was rolled up to his elbows, his trousers to his knees, his feet bare. Raheed hadn’t really seen Asan work before, so he took a moment to watch Asan without Asan’s notice. There was such energetic efficiency to his strokes, the muscles in his arms straining with the effort. Raheed recognized some of it; Asan always dedicated himself completely to a task with a determination Raheed envied. However, the Asan Raheed had left was also restless, undisciplined, filled with nervous energy. Some of that was probably due to his age, as Raheed knew no fifteen-year-old boy who could hold still. It was a bit of a shock seeing him so concentrated, as if floor washing required his complete attention. Was it something Elder Hassad had taught him? Or had Asan simply grown up?

            Asan lifted an arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead. In doing so, his head turned, bringing Raheed into his peripheral vision. He jolted, then rose to a sit. Just as he was about to climb to a stand, Raheed shook his head and signed, _Don’t worry about me_. _You can keep working_.

            Asan nodded but did not immediately bend over to return to his task. For a moment he stared at Raheed with an expression Raheed couldn’t quite define. Of course, Asan had always been a bit that way, never being completely honest in the way he wanted Raheed to be.

            Raheed descended the two steps into the courtyard, which looked much better since he’d last been here. There were actual flowers planted there now, as well as a small paved walkway made from various colored stones. Once he reached the other side of the tiny garden, he sat down on the two steps ascending to the other side of the veranda and threw a smile at Asan. Then he pulled Ahmbra’s bridle from the bag he’d brought home with him, as well as a brush and some saddle soap. The leather had grown brittle and stiff in the heat and sand, so he decided that cleaning it would be a good use of his free time, even if he didn’t much like to do it. It required patience and attention to detail that he often didn’t have. However, he felt he had more of both when here in Ayllamal than on the battle field. Here, there was no sound of billowing tents, snorting horses, and foot soldiers swapping rude banter at one another. The only sounds here was the distant bray of a donkey and the rhythmic scratching of a hard-bristle brush on a tile floor.

            Twenty minutes into his task, Raheed looked up when he heard Asan’s footsteps approaching. Raheed didn’t expect Asan to kneel at his side, but then he supposed that was a thing all servants learned when in the presence of a person of higher rank. He’d actually grown a bit used to it, as he spent some time with General Mamid and his servant, who always knelt upon approaching his superior.

            _Do you need any help with that_? Asan asked.

            “I think I can handle it,” Raheed replied, dropping the bridle so he could sign. “I could go for a bucket of clean water though. And a rag.”

            Asan nodded and stood, then crossed the courtyard toward the well at the back of the house. When he returned, he carried a full bucket of water as well as several rags.

            “Thank you,” Raheed replied, unbuckling the bit from the headstall so that he could clean the dried hay and spittle from its crevices. “This’ll do.”

            _How do you clean that_? Asan asked, pointing to the dissected bridle in Raheed’s lap. _You took it apart_.

            “Ah, yes. A bridle’s meant to come apart, see?” Raheed held up the separate pieces and gestured toward the buckles and grooves that kept the bridle together. “This is the browband, the cheek pieces, the throatlatch, and the reins.”

            Asan reached out and touched the bit. _This looks dangerous_.

            Raheed laughed. “Ah, well, it’s a rather severe bit. Ahmbra has a very hard mouth, which makes it hard to control her.”

            _Hard mouth_?  
            “Not sensitive. She was trained by someone else before I bought her, and they must have yanked her head around quite a bit. You see this?” Raheed pointed to the long pieces of metal that were welded to the bit’s rings. “These are shanks. The longer they are, the more severe the bit. You pull at these and you put some heavy pressure on their mouth. And this.” He pointed to the bar that connected the bit’s rings. “This is the port. See how it’s one solid bar with a notch in the middle? Sometimes if a horse has a sensitive mouth, it’s jointed in the middle. But like I said, she’s strong and she knows it. This helps me control her, which is especially important on the battle field.”

            Asan held the bit up to look at it more closely, then placed it near his mouth and made a biting motion. Raheed laughed and pulled it away.

            “Unless you like the taste of horse spit, I’d suggest not putting it in your mouth,” Raheed chuckled. “Besides, with your hard head, I think I’d need something even more severe than that.”

            Asan smiled, and Raheed was glad to know that _that_ hadn’t changed much, even if it was slightly more reserved now.

            _I can help_ , Asan insisted again, this time drawing his legs out from underneath him to sit alongside Raheed. _I like to learn new things_.

            “Well, you can clean the bit if you’d like.”

            Asan did seem to like the idea, so he took the bit and the brush Raheed offered. He dipped both into the bucket of water before starting to clean. Raheed watched him for a moment to make sure that Asan was comfortable with his task before returning to his own.

            As they worked in companionable silence, Raheed realized how much he had missed Asan. He had missed many things, of course, but Raheed had met no one quite like this beggar boy from Khafa. In an institution as large as the Mulli military, it was so hard to get in a word, but it was even harder to find silence. He’d gotten so caught up in the tumble of war that he’d forgotten what it was like to sit by a friend’s side and simply _be_. 

            _You came home very late last night,_ Asan finally said after several minutes, his hands moving quickly so that he could return to his work.

            “I was . . .” Raheed trailed off, then cleared his throat. “I was busy.”

            _Busy with what_?

            “Work.”

            Asan looked up just enough to see Raheed sign the word before ducking his head and returning to his task. Clearly he didn’t believe Raheed. Raheed considered leaving it there, but when he glanced at Asan again, he decided that Asan was old enough now to know the truth, if he hadn’t already guessed it.

            Raheed tapped Asan’s shoulder to get his attention. Asan looked up and met Raheed’s gaze.

            _I was at a ._ . . Raheed didn’t have a sign for the word. _I pay women to be with me_.

            Asan frowned, then made a foreign sign that Raheed did not recognize.

            _What’s that_? Raheed asked.

            _A sign for a woman who you pay to be with_.

            Raheed wasn’t sure if Asan understood exactly what he meant. _It’s a woman who sleeps with you_.

            Asan nodded and repeated the gesture. Then, _Yes, I know_.

            _How do you know about that?_

Asan rolled his eyes, quickly replying, _I am not a child. I know how a man and a woman are_.

            _Who told you_?

            _I’m not stupid. I know things._ Asan looked away briefly, a slight color to his cheeks.

            Raheed gasped. _Have you . . . with a woman—?_

            Asan actually reached out and grabbed Raheed’s hands to keep him from signing more. He was shaking his head vigorously.

            _Then how would you know?_

_I read_.

            Raheed pressed his tongue against his cheek. _Elder Hassad allows this_?

            _He doesn’t know. I bought a few books in the market to read. Poems_. Asan’s hands lowered to clench the fabric of his trousers. _They taught me some things_.

            Raheed felt ashamed that Asan had to learn like that. If he hadn’t been such a coward about it, he would have told Asan himself. Asan should have learned from someone he trusted, not a lude poem he purchased for a few coins in the marketplace.

            Raheed sighed and made the sign that Asan had told him. It had to be _whore_.

            _So you were with a whore?_ Asan asked.

            It was such a common practice in the military that Raheed had grown used to bragging about it. Now that he was being seen through the eyes of someone he considered innocent, he felt the shame he once had, years ago. _Yes_.

            Asan returned to cleaning the bit, his brow wrinkled, his lips drawn in a thin line. Raheed couldn’t be sure if he was angry or just thoughtful. When Raheed considered the topic dropped, Asan turned to him with renewed interest.

            _Can a man be a whore?_ Asan asked.

            “What?” Raheed asked aloud. In comparison to the previous silence, his voice seemed to fill the entire courtyard. “What kind of question is that?”

            Asan blushed and dropped his head again. _I just wondered_.

            Raheed shuffled the pieces of leather around in his lap and considered not answering. It was _not_ the question he predicted coming from Asan. Even soldiers didn’t talk about _that_ , and they were some of the rudest, most unashamed people he’d ever met. But then again, curiosity was not a crime.

            _I suppose_ , Raheed replied at last. _I’ve only ever met two or three_.

            _So men pay them to . . . ?_

_I guess_. Raheed shifted uncomfortably. This was not a topic he wished to discuss. _You shouldn’t be asking such things_.

            _Why do you see whores?_ Asan asked.  Suddenly Raheed wanted to talk about the prosect of male whores again.

            _For the same reason any man does._

            _But_ why _?_

_You’re old enough now. You should know about . . ._ Raheed bit his tongue, trying to think of how to word it, _urges_.

            Asan shrugged as he scrubbed the bit, turning his face away, probably to hide the way he flushed. After a minute of silence, he finally returned his gaze to Raheed, signing cautiously, _I know about them. I just would not pay someone to deal with them_.

            _Give it time,_ Raheed said. _You may soon see it as I do_. _No man wants to live his whole life without the touch of a woman_.

            _If you have no choice . . ._

            Raheed chuckled softly, reaching out a hand to squeeze Asan’s shoulder. _If you would like the chance, Asan, I will pay for it._

Asan’s mouth flopped open for an instant before he replied, _Elder Hassad would never let me_!

            Raheed leaned in close, moving his hand to hold the back of Asan’s neck as he did so. It was often a conspiratory position he used with fellow soldiers, a gesture of both brotherhood and secrecy. “Elder Hassad does not have to know.”

            Asan inhaled sharply, then quickly returned to his scrubbing. Raheed laughed and clapped him on the back before rubbing more oil on his reins. He wasn’t sure if Asan would take his offer or not, but he was being quite serious. Asan was in the same predicament as he was, if not for a much longer time. Raheed didn’t expect that he would last past thirty, but if Asan was lucky, he’d grow up to be as old as Elder Hassad. To live eighty years without the touch of a woman . . . well, that would be cruel. It would be best if Asan asked now when Raheed was willing to pay, as Raheed could afford someone nice, someone like Yuva perhaps. The last thing he wanted for Asan was a girl like Raheed’s first. Raheed had a feeling Asan might take it even more personally than Raheed did.

            When Raheed finished, he took the bit from Asan, which was cleaner than Raheed could have ever gotten it. Together they stood, but Raheed did not depart before saying, “Just give me the word, Asan, and I will make it happen.”

            Asan nodded hastily before darting away, his face red. Raheed couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he headed back to his room, this time to retrieve his saddle.

 

* * *

 

            Even after Raheed and Elder Hassad went to bed, Asan stayed up, sitting in his window nook with his sketchbook resting in his lap. Two lamps flickered close, lighting the paper as he worked. He had graduated to real paper this time, none of that brittle parchment that Elder Hassad used to give him. He had practiced drawing rather obsessively since Elder Hassad had started him on calligraphy, and even Elder Hassad nodded approval at Asan’s artistic skill. Asan loved calligraphy, but he would always prefer drawing the living forms, be they human or animal. There was one human he loved drawing more than anyone else, but of course, no one knew that. Asan kept his sketchbook secret, hidden under the mattress of his bed. He didn’t suppose anyone would come looking for it, as Elder Hassad could no longer climb the steps to Asan’s room. But he feared what the cleric might say if he did come across it. Would he simply see it as emulation, a boy drawing a man he respected and admired? Or would he see it as Asan saw it, a servant obsessed with a soldier he would never have?

            Their discussion of whores earlier that day still circled through Asan’s mind. He’d known, of course, what Raheed had been doing, but he’d convinced himself it wasn’t true. Raheed was just working late, of course, because Raheed was a good, dedicated soldier. Well, there was no chance of disillusionment now. Raheed had confessed to seeing whores. The idea of it made Asan feel vaguely ill. There were many factors. Asan hated the idea of whores in general, but the thought of a woman touching Raheed only because he paid her . . . well, that made his skin crawl. If it were different, if Asan were a woman, Raheed needn’t have paid him a single coin. Raheed was paying women to do what Asan would gladly do for free, and that was what sat at the center of Asan’s disgust.

            Asan had come to terms with his “condition”, and he knew he’d probably never experience what Raheed paid for. No one talked about it, making it rather clear that the only approved union was one between a man and a woman. Even Raheed, a soldier of rather loose morals, seemed to find it distasteful. But Asan could no longer deny the fact that he’d yet to meet a woman that made him feel the “urge” that Raheed did every second Asan was in his presence. Maybe if a woman had expressed any interest at all, or maybe if the woman was like the ones Raheed hired, maybe he’d change his mind. He doubted it though.

            Asan began to work on yet another sketch of Raheed. He found it amusing to look at the sketches during Raheed’s absence, since they seemed to look less like Raheed over time. Now that Asan’s memory was refreshed, he could do it right. He started on Raheed’s face shape, then hair. God, how he loved drawing that hair. He was satisfied to see it hadn’t changed since Asan had seen Raheed last—still cut short but not so short that his curls weren’t allowed a personality. As Asan’s charcoal scribbled them, Asan was struck with another wave of desire. He was used to that; he ignored it.

            Usually he just drew Raheed’s face, but today he drew his shoulders and torso. He was planning on drawing his clothing after outlining his basic figure, but once he started sketching those arms, he couldn’t bear to cover them up with Raheed’s robes. And of course, once the arms were there, Asan felt obligated to draw his chest, a chest he’d only seen bare a few times. Raheed was thicker than he’d been before, so Asan let his imagination carry him away a bit. He drew a figure that lit his imagination on fire, complete with a dusting of hair across his pecs and down his abdomen—

            Asan snapped the book shut and threw it to the end of the bed, covering his head with a groan he felt vibrate in his throat. Why did he _do_ this? Did he take delight in torturing himself?

            Asan scratched fingers down his face, trying to wake himself up from his lustful stupor. He could see why Raheed might pay a woman to bed him if his urges were like _this_. If the option were open to Asan, if Raheed were for sale . . .

            _Inappropriate thoughts_ , Asan scolded himself. He had to stop thinking like this.

            Then Asan remembered Samid and Malli from the southern docks, and he realized that there was at least one handsome man for sale. As if Asan had the money or the free time to partake. Still. Would he if he were in Raheed’s position? Would he do it?

            _Maybe_ , Asan thought, which terrified him. Elder Hassad had told him once that lust was like infection. If you let it cut you open, it completely took over. It was why Elder Hassad chose the life he did. He was of the belief that lust ruined one’s peace. Asan was obligated to agree. If he could rid himself of his lust, he’d be a much happier person.

            Messenger bounded through his door, barking. With a sigh, Asan dragged himself to a stand and went downstairs to attend to whatever Elder Hassad needed.

 

* * *

 

            Several weeks passed, and there was no more discussion of whores. Raheed returned for dinner most nights, but there were nights he came stumbling home drunk, usually in a good mood but sometimes in a poor one. Asan hated it when Raheed drank. While he welcomed Raheed’s intense affection during those inebriated moments, he just hated that Raheed had to be drunk in order to express it. Asan decided he liked Raheed most when they sat quietly beside one another, talking and enjoying one another’s company like civilized people. Drunk Raheed reminded Asan of those men in Khafa and the men at the quarry who used to beat him, even if Raheed never lifted a hand in anger.

            “You’re a little Elder Hassad, aren’t you?” Raheed had asked at one point while drunk. “He’s got you all trained to be morally _outraged_.”

            Asan wasn’t sure about that, but he certainly had a higher standard of morals than Raheed did. And some of that was influenced by Elder Hassad, the only father-figure Asan had known. Elder Hassad had yet to disappoint Asan in the way Raheed did, and he was widely respected. Why should Asan not heed his advice? What was wrong with expecting more of himself and others? Drink and brothels led to more severe sins, and Asan feared for Raheed’s soul. Despite attending temple services with Elder Hassad weekly, Asan was not strictly religious. He just thought religion had some very good points about alcohol and brothels.

            One day, Asan told Raheed he was going to the market. He was shocked when Raheed offered to join him.

            “I like shopping occasionally,” Raheed said as Asan fitted Messenger with a harness Asan had made from scrap pieces of old tack. He’d made it after Messenger had killed a few market chickens in an attempt to play with them. “Why shouldn’t I go?”

            So Raheed and Asan  headed off together, occasionally swapping banter but for the most part walking in companionable silence. Asan noted how people turned and bowed as Raheed passed, a phenomenon that had never happened before. _The beard_ , Asan thought. Funny how such a small thing could denote such impressive status. Asan had wondered if anyone tried to get away with a status that was not theirs by growing their beard in a certain way. He imagined the punishment for doing so would be severe.

            After entering the market, Raheed wanted to look around a bit on his own. Asan didn’t like the idea of separating, so they agreed to stay separate but close, within several strides of one another. It would be easy to find Raheed in his bright red cloak, so Asan didn’t fret.

            Asan was admiring some ceramic bowls when he spotted a flash of black from the corner of his eye. He turned and saw the vaguely familiar figure of Samid, the male prositute from the southern docks. He had no one with him this time. Even draped in a brown cloak, he was noticeably different than the rest of the people in the market. He was paler than the peasants who toiled in the sun, and his hair carried a certain luster, a sign that he washed it nearly every day. That was a luxury not many peasants could afford.

            Now that Asan knew his true profession, he allowed himself a few seconds to admire Samid’s figure. It was more hidden this time than last, but he had a very handsome, striking face, the kind that sat on the edge between feminine and masculine. There was some kohl smudged around his eyes, emphasizing their size and dark color. Didn’t Raheed say he’d pay for a whore? What if . . .?

            Asan ducked his head, ashamed of himself for such thoughts. Elder Hassad would hit him upside the head with his cane for sure.

            When Asan lifted his eyes again, he was shocked to find Samid’s gaze on him. Asan gaped dumbly for a moment before Samid made his way toward him, a small smirk crossing those mischevious lips.

            Asan quickly picked up a bowl and pretended to look at it as Samid came up beside him. He was surprised when Samid’s slender fingers plucked it from his grip and returned it to the makeshift table Asan had pulled it from.

            “I remember you,” Samid said, leaning in much closer than necessary. “You’re the servant who showed us the way to this market.”

            Asan blushed and took a step back, feeling betrayed by his body’s reaction to Samid’s proximity.

            “I should thank you again,” Samid continued, taking Asan’s wrist and drawing him away from the booth. They stopped at the mouth of an alley, a bit out of the way from the usual traffic. “I come here now instead of the southern market. Much cheaper up here, isn’t it?”

            Asan nodded, looking down at his shoes. He was surprised when Samid’s finger took his chin and lifted it. Asan didn’t consider himself short, but Samid was still taller than him.

            “You’re a sweet man,” Samid murmured.

            Since Elder Hassad just called Asan _boy_ all the time, it was nice to be referred to as a man.

            Samid leaned in even further, lips now so close that there was no way Asan could misinterpret his words. His eyes were huge and black, ringed by delicate lashes. Asan could have spent at least an hour looking at that face, admiring the curve of his pale lips and the few strands of black hair that stuck to his forehead in the heat.

            “If you need any favor, I’m always good for one,” Samid said slowly.

            Then Asan felt a tug on his belt. It was very slight, but he sensed it. Quick as a diving falcon, Asan reached down and snatched up Samid’s hand by the wrist, which had been attempting to take the pouch of money from underneath his sash.

            Asan didn’t have much time to react further than that, because Samid jolted, his eyes widening at something behind Asan. Asan turned and found himself in the shadow of Raheed.

            “What are you doing?” Raheed asked, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. Asan had rarely seen the soldier beyond Raheed’s gregarious nature, but Asan saw it now. He was glad that he did not need to face Raheed on the battle field, as he looked fiercer than any angry peasant or displeased foreman Asan had experienced yet.

            Samid took advantage of Asan’s surprise and pulled his wrist from Asan’s grip. But as he tried to dart away, Raheed grabbed a handful of his cloak and yanked him back.

            “I know you,” Raheed said, drawing Samid close. “You’re that—”

            “Samid,” Samid interrupted. Asan had expected a reaction of fear or shame, but Samid looked nearly as hostile as Raheed. Maybe Samid was not a whore at all but a soldier in disguise. “You are Raheed.”

            Raheed glared at Samid a few seconds before tossing him backward. For a moment it seemed as if Samid would keep his balance, but he tripped on a furrow in the cobblestone and fell to the ground. His lifted cloak revealed black silk trousers beneath, nothing that should be worn on the streets.

            “Is there a reason you’re here stealing from my servant?” Raheed snapped. Asan’s eyes darted to Raheed’s hand, which gripped the hilt of his sheathed sword. He had no idea how these two knew one another.

            Samid scrambled to a stand, brushing himself off with a grimace. Finally he straightened his cloak and brushed back his hair, clearly trying to regain some composure.

            “I suppose I did it for the same reason anyone steals. He has money, I don’t.”

            “Liar. You work in one of the most lavish brothels and yet you resort to stealing from a _servant_?”

            Samid’s face flushed, but not from shame. His eyes narrowed in anger. “I don’t think you know much about how brothels work, do you Raheed?”

            “That’s _sir_ to you,” Raheed replied sharply. Asan found himself taking a step back toward Samid, only because he’d never seen Raheed so fearsome. But then Raheed reached out and grabbed Asan’s arm, jerking him closer. Asan pouted in protest. What was Raheed trying to protect him from? An unarmed whore?

            Samid took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut. When he opened them, all the rage was gone, replaced with the usual coy charm. Asan figured it was easier to win a battle with honey than it was with poison.

            “Sir,” Samid said, bowing slightly. “I apologize. It’s not—I was wrong. I did it out of desperation. One of the girls at the brothel . . . well, she has rather intense pains at certain times of the month. I thought that perhaps I could get her some milk of the poppy for relief.”

            “And you had to steal _why_?”

            “We aren’t even allowed to leave the brothel,” Samid replied. “You think we’re awarded the funds for such extravagant purchases?”

            “You aren’t allowed to leave? Then how are you here?”

            “I’m the one missed the least if I vanish for a few hours,” Samid replied. “I snuck out.”

            “And why did you target Asan, a mere servant?”

            “Asan?” Samid turned those wide black eyes to Asan, and he smiled a fraction, a smile that seemed more genuine than anything before it. “So that is his name. Asan has assisted me before. I was lost and he helped me find my way.”

            Asan was grateful that Samid did not tell the truth, which was that Asan helped them sneak out of their brothel and guided them to the northern market. Raheed might find it acceptable, or he might not.

            “So you repay his kindness with _stealing_ from him?” Raheed asked, looking more disgusted now than angry.

            To his credit, Samid looked a tad ashamed of this. “I—I apologize. I would not have done it if not out of desperation. This girl . . . she is in a lot of pain. Like I said, I was desperate.”

            “You do know the punishment for stealing.”        

            All of his charm leaked from Samid in an instant, taking all of his color as well. For the first time, he looked truly terrified. “Please. No. Sir, I—”

            Raheed began to pull his short sword from its scabbard but didn’t even finish unsheathing it before Samid was on his hands and knees, forehead on the cobblestone, hands so close to Raheed’s boots that his fingers touched the toes. Asan didn’t know what he said since his mouth was practically in the dirt, but he was sure he said something, because Raheed pursed his lips in displeasure. Asan reached over and touched Raheed’s arm before quickly signing, _Don’t_.

            _I’m not going to_ , Raheed replied, as if indignant that Asan would assume such a thing. _I’m just making a point_.

            Asan didn’t like how Raheed made points.

            Raheed bent down and took a handful of Samid’s cloak, pulling him upright. Samid’s smugness had vanished, replaced by fear.

            “I’m not going to cut off your hand,” Raheed told him. “But before you steal from a servant, you’d best make sure it’s not a servant of a _captain_.”

            “I didn’t—sir.” Samid just bowed his head and fell silent.

            There were a few seconds of silence, during which Raheed observed the newly obsequious Samid. Finally he sighed heavily and said, “Milk of poppy, you said?”

            Samid lifted glittering eyes to Raheed, shocked. It took him a moment to stutter, “Y—yes, sir.”

            Raheed handed Asan the bag of onions he’d been carrying and reached into the pouch tied to his belt, which was far more secure than Asan’s meager few coins. 

            “Do you know where to buy this, Asan?”

            Asan nodded vigorously. _For a good price, even_.

            “You see?” Raheed handed Asan his pouch of money, keeping his eyes on Samid. “Perhaps you should have asked first.”

            Samid gaped at Asan. “What did he do with his hands?”

            Raheed merely took a handful of Samid’s neck and shoved him forward. Letting out a whine of protest, Samid batted Raheed away. When Raheed freed him, he straightened his cloak with a glare and agreed to follow Asan and Raheed to where milk of poppy was sold at a reasonable price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't make it through this chapter without nerding out over horsey things. I figure it's the one thing in my life that I have any authority on, so I'm gonna milk it for what it's worth. 
> 
> To my fellow 'Muricans, happy 4th of July. :D


	21. Milk of Poppy

            “Malli!”

            Malli dug her face deeper into her pillow with a moan. It didn’t help quiet the din of approaching footsteps and the sound of her door being tossed open.

            “ _Samid_ ,” Akeem hissed as she resoaked the cloth she’d used to dab at Malli’s forehead. “Be _quiet_.”

            Samid bent over his knees to catch his breath, then straightened, hardly cowed by Akeem’s chiding. He dashed to Malli’s side, sitting beside her on the bed and pulling a small burlap sack from beneath his cloak.

            “I got you something,” he whispered, leaning over her with a gentle smile.

            She finally pulled her face from his pillow and twised around to look at the object he held. When he removed the sack, he held a small ceramic container.

            “Is that . . .”

            “Yes,” he blurted giddily.

            “How did you . . .?” She reached up to touch it, then winced as a particularly powerful stab of pain skittered across her lower abdomen. It seemed like her cramping grew worse as she aged, though considering all the trauma she’d put her womb through, it was understandable.

            “It’s a long, interesting story,” Samid replied, voice soft as he reached out to stroke Malli’s hair. “Not sure if Akeem wants to hear it.”

            “Is it a story of you being an impetuous fool?” Akeem asked. “Because I think I’ve heard that story before.”

            Samid snickered and jumped off the bed to retrieve one of the small cups that Malli kept in her cupboard. He quickly poured some milk of poppy, then returned to her side. Akeem cooed and helped Malli sit upright, though Malli shrugged her off.

            “I’m sick, not a child,” she told Akeem, who bristled but said nothing. She was probably used to Malli’s nature by now. “Give me that and then tell me the story.”

            Samid handed her the cup, the contents of which Malli swallowed in a single gulp. She winced, then coughed. They called it _milk_ of poppy but it tasted nothing like milk. It tasted more like camel piss.

            “I snuck out and went to the northern market.”

            “Oh, Samid.”

            “Milk of poppy down here on the docks would have cost _twice_ as much as it does up there. And I had, what, two _immas_?”

            “If Master Mahir found out—”

            “He’d do what he always does. I’m not scared of him.” Samid’s voice was strong, but Malli knew better. They were _all_ scared of Master Mahir.

            “So you went to the northern market,” Akeem said.

            “Yes. Long walk, but I assume I wasn’t missed. Unless some customers miraculously decided to appear?”

            “You were not asked for, to my knowledge.”

            Samid sighed. “Tell me something else that’s new. Anyway, Malli, guess who I ran into at the market.”

            “A customer?”

            “No. Well, maybe. Not my customer. Do you remember that servant who showed us to the northern market a few weeks ago?”

            “The shy handsome one who didn’t speak?” Malli asked with a pained smile. She turned to Akeem and slapped her arm gently. “I like the ones who don’t speak the best.”

            Akeem snickered, returning her damp cloth to Malli’s forehead. The cool water was soothing, even if Akeem tended to be a flustered mother hen.

            “Yes, that one. Well, he was there. And he seemed so charmed by me last time that I thought I might try to, eh, lure him into giving me a few coins.”

            “A _servant_ , Samid? What were you thinking?”

            “I was desperate! I was out of options. All of the milk of poppy I found was at least fifteen _immas_ , and that was for a tiny vial only good for one swallow. I thought that maybe . . .” Samid sighed and shook his head. “Well, I was being stupid. And guess who should show up just as I was picking his pocket?”

            Malli lifted her eyebrows, waiting for his answer.

            “A customer of _yours_.”

            Malli couldn’t help but check Samid for bruises, wondering what the damage was. Not all of Malli’s customers were brutal men, but some were.

            “I’m not hurt,” Samid said, taking her hand and squeezing it. “He did catch me picking his servant’s pocket though.”

            “Oh, hey,” Akeem said in a monotone, “it _is_ a story of you being an impetuous fool.”

            Samid shook a finger at Akeem. “Don’t start. It was because of my foolishness that I was able to get this milk of poppy.”

            “What customer?” Malli asked. She could feel a numbness creeping along her fingertips, and she couldn’t help but smile at the sensation.

            “Raheed.”

            Malli’s brow wrinkled. “Raheed, Raheed.” She raked her memory. “Oh! Raheed! The captain. The one with the very nice mouth.” She rather liked him, mostly because he was so easy on the eyes. She’d almost enjoyed the hour she’d spent with him. “What happened then?”

            “He threatened to cut my hand off.”  
            Malli gasped as Akeem snorted.

            “ _What_?”

            “He did! But then he didn’t. I told him the truth, that I was trying to get some milk of poppy. Some men fall for that helpless damsel act, you know. Anyway, he took some pity on me and bought this for me!”

            “Did you tell him it was for me?” Malli asked.

            “No. I said it was for a girl. I . . . I suppose I _should_ have told him it was you, considering he seemed to like you so much when he visited last. But I’m used to keeping all you girls’ names secret.”

            “So he didn’t even know it was for me and he still bought it?”

            Samid nodded.

            Malli fell back against her pillow, thoughtful. That had been very generous of him, considering the milk of poppy that Samid held now had to be at least forty _immas_. So not only had he not punished Samid for thievery, he’d been charitable as well. Malli should have been shocked, but she really wasn’t. She was rather good at reading characters by now—she had to be in this profession—and she’d sensed a kindness in Raheed many others lacked. Even if he tried to cover it up with military bravado and masculine posturing.

            “His servant wasn’t upset either. You should see how he and Raheed communicate! They make weird hand gestures at one another.” Samid began twisting his hands and making shapes with his fingers. “Very odd, but interesting as well. I found it rather sweet. You can always tell the character of a man by how he treats his servant.”

             “I suppose,” Malli replied.

            There was a short silence as Malli stared at the ceiling and Samid reached up to stroke her hair again. She turned into his touch, glad to have him back and out of harm’s way.

            With a sigh, Akeem stood and deposited the wet cloth in the basin where she kept the water. “That’s a fascinating story of stupidity, Samid. You should be glad that Master Mahir didn’t find out you were missing. He rather enjoys striping your hide.”

            Samid only grinned, though Malli saw all the fear and pain that hid beneath it. She knew that Samid had once been the perfect whore, doing everything that was asked of him and beyond. He eventually learned that no matter what he did, he couldn’t find the demand for a male whore, at least not one past boyhood. Only through Malli’s generosity was he still allowed to live and work here, as she covered a third of his fee every month. Of course, that made Master Mahir mad at _her_ , but she didn’t care about him. Men ceased to scare her.

            Akeem leaned down and kissed Malli on the forehead. “Get plenty of rest. You shouldn’t work tonight.”

            “Yes,” Samid agreed. “I will work hard in hopes of making up for it.”

            Akeem left Samid and Malli alone, closing the door behind her. Samid sank down onto the bed beside Malli, leaning his head on her shoulder. He wove his fingers through hers, then lifted her hand to his mouth so he could kiss the back of it. Malli sighed and turned her face so that she could press her nose into his soft, fragrant hair.

            “You shouldn’t have done this,” Malli whispered. “I don’t want you to put yourself in danger.”

            “Shh.” Samid twisted around and lifted his other hand to press against her lips. “By now you should know I do what I want, against better judgment.”

            “You’re going to get killed one day. And if Master Mahir harmed you because of me, I’d never forgive myself.”

            “It’s entirely my decision to sneak out.” Samid pushed himself up onto his elbows, placing one on either side of Malli. “It would never be your fault.”

            “But it’d be _because_ of me. Ah.” Malli winced as a fierce and fiery grip took hold of her abdomen. She was usually good at hiding pain, but this made her groan and hold her breath until it was over. When it faded, her muscles released and she exhaled with a gasp.

            Samid kissed her cheeks before placing a lingering kiss on her mouth. She lifted both hands to grip his face, then pulled him down so that their foreheads were touching. There were very few people Malli trusted in this world; Samid was one. She was scared of how much she trusted him. He was also the only person she loved, first as a brother and now as something a bit more.

            “I’d do anything for you,” Samid whispered. “You know that.”

            Malli did, and that was what terrified her.

 

* * *

 

            After a long, hot day of training and observing troops of _bhanak_ foot soldiers about to be sent out, Raheed had quite enough. It didn’t help that the lieutenant general made it his duty to insult Raheed in every possible way. Being a _bhanak_ and an officer of lower rank, Raheed had to accept it with gritted teeth, but he’d never wanted to punch someone in the face so much, and that included enemies he met on the battle field.

            When he was finally excused for the day, Raheed grabbed his horse and headed straight for the southern docks. Normally he’d walk, as he didn’t like to leave Ahmbra in strange hands for too long, but he needed to get as far away from the barracks as possible, as quickly as possible. The traffic made it hard to move any faster than a walk, but when Raheed encountered the occasional empty dirt road, he’d push Ahmbra into a collected canter. She had the most beautiful gaits, though they were more awe-inspiring to watch than they were to ride. He’d never ridden a horse with a more jarring trot.

            Normally the walk to the southern docks took about an hour and a half, but on top of Ahmbra, it took him forty-five minutes. The sun was just beginning to touch the sea when he steered her down the familiar street, all of its lamps lit and its ladies on the prowl. Raheed had gotten the occasional coy glance as a foot soldier, but as an officer upon a horse of Ahmbra’s quality, women slipped out of doorways and crevices to offer him some of their time. He knew it was only because they knew he could pay, but it certainly helped boost his ego.

            Ahmbra had worked herself into a heavy lather by the time he arrived at his desination. Once he entered the brothel, he handed the reins over to the burly servant who normally answered the door. The man nodded and led the horse into the front courtyard, where she would be tied and provided water until he returned. He would have to make sure Asan gave her a proper washing tomorrow. Normally Raheed let the stable hands at the barracks do it, but he knew Asan would do a much more thorough job. Ahmbra was a fickle mare, but she seemed to like Asan enough; most animals did.

            Raheed knew where the room was this time. It seemed to lie at the end of a maze of courtyards, verandas, and dark hallways, through which filtered the beating of drums and the plucking of an _oud_. An occasional laugh or shriek of delight would pierce the air, then die back into silence.

            Raheed began to wonder if Samid ever worked, because he always seemed to be in the way. Considering Samid was talking with another man, Raheed figured he could slip past him, unnoticed. But then the man saw Raheed approaching, blanched, and hunched his shoulders before darting away. Samid called out to him, then turned and frowned at Raheed.

            “You must be here to see—”

            “I can find my own way, thank you,” Raheed interjected, slipping past Samid at a quick walk.

            “Wait! I—wait a second.”

            Raheed considered ignoring him, but he sighed and stopped, turning around and meeting Samid’s eyes for the first time. Only then did he see that one looked puffy, though the bruising was hard to detect beneath a thick layer of what Raheed assumed was powder.

            “What happened to you?” Raheed asked.

            “What? Nothing!” Samid lifted a hand to touch his right eye, giving him away immediately. “Uh, look, I should thank you again—”

            “Don’t.” Raheed turned and began walking again. Unfortunately, Samid began to follow him.

            “I feel like I have to!” Samid called after him before running several steps to catch up. “It was quite a purchase.”

            “What do you want?” Raheed asked, stopping once more and turning to face Samid so quickly that Samid practically ran into him.

            “Nothing.”

            Raheed lifted an eyebrow skeptically.

            Samid’s instant guilty expression said enough. Raheed waited.

            “Twenty _immas_ ,” Samid said, which was not an answer Raheed was expecting.

            “Why?”

            Samid bit his lip, slowly lifting his gaze to Raheed’s. Raheed resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Coming from a woman the act was ridiculous enough. To come from a grown man, it seemed absurd.

            “Business has been slow . . .”

            “And you want me to pay you for nothing?”

            Samid shrugged. “It wouldn’t have to be nothing.”

            Raheed took a step forward, which must have appeared menacing, because Samid shuffled two steps back. Raheed jabbed a finger at him. “ _No_. Where’s Malli? Is she in her room?”

            “Look, it wouldn’t have to be _everything_. Maybe a suck. Who cares if I’m a man? You don’t even have to look at me.”

            Raheed grabbed a handful of Samid’s hair so quickly that Samid hadn’t the time to jump away. Raheed would have grabbed his caftan instead, but Samid currently wasn’t wearing one.

            “Ouch! Hey—!”

            “Where. Is Malli?” Raheed snapped.

            “I don’t know! Where she wants to be!”

            “Raheed?”

            Raheed spun around, instantly releasing Samid from his hold. There stood Malli behind him, looking both suspicious and worried. She was beautiful of course, wearing golden silk trousers and a tassled bodice that exposed most of her abdomen.

            “Malli.” He couldn’t stop the warm smile that fell across his mouth. “There you are.”

            “What were you doing to Samid?” she said carefully, as if attempting to hide anger.

            “It’s nothing, Malli.” Samid took a breath and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I was just harassing him, that’s all.”

            “I didn’t hurt him,” Raheed said defensively.

            Malli crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t touch whores you don’t pay for. Don’t you know brothel rules by now? I’m sure you’ve visited enough.”

            Raheed felt appropriately chastised and bowed his head in apology, even if part of him wanted to argue. “I’m sorry.”

            “Really, Malli.” Samid’s voice was soft, cowed. “It’s fine.”

            Malli’s eyebrows tightened a moment as she stared at Samid. Finally she sighed and took Raheed’s arm, drawing him away. Samid stayed where he was, watching them depart for a few seconds before turning and walking in the opposite direction.

            “He’s only doing his job,” Malli whispered softly, pulling Raheed into a dark corridor, lit only by flickering lamps along the wall. “Any woman would do the same.”

            “It’s different when it’s a woman,” Raheed replied.

            “How?”

            Raheed shrugged. “I would bed most women.”

            Malli sighed, glancing toward the courtyard they’d just left. She then turned to Raheed with furrowed eyebrows and poked his chest. “Don’t touch him again. And don’t threaten to cut his hand off!”

            “When did I—” Raheed stopped, forehead wrinkled in thought. “Wait. He told you about that?”

            “Of course he did. The milk of poppy was for me.”

            Raheed was surprised by that, considering Samid hadn’t mentioned it. If he’d wanted to milk of poppy so badly, he surely should have known that Raheed would have bought it for Malli. “I didn’t know it was for you.”

            “I didn’t send him on that mission. He went on his own.”

            “So you didn’t ask him to steal from my servant.”

            Malli chuckled, and Raheed was glad to see that a smile had returned to that beautiful mouth. “No, I never would have suggested such a thing.”

            “You know, if he’d just stolen from me, I probably wouldn’t have cared. It’s happened before. But he tried to steal from Asan.”

            “Asan is your servant? That’s his name?”

            “Yes. Why, is that odd?”

            “No, it’s just . . .” Malli pressed her mouth shut and shook her head. “Never mind. Come. We can go back to my room.”

            Raheed liked the sound of that.

 

* * *

 

            “There’s going to be a party at the palace,” General Mamid said as they rode toward the barracks, ignoring those who hastily parted to let them by. “And you know I’m invited.”

            “Isn’t that a good thing, sir?”

            General Mamid snorted. “I’d rather fight a hundred wars rather than smile and nod at pompous nobles who wouldn’t know an interesting story if it came in the center of a stuffed date.”

            Raheed had to admit that visualizing General Mamid in such a situation was vaguely amusing. The general couldn’t even keep his armor clean, let alone dress himself in a manner that befitted a party thrown by rich Mulli-by-bloods. 

            “Will the caliph be present?”

            “Who knows. If he can tear himself away from his harem for five seconds, perhaps he’ll grace us all with his empyrean presence. Then he’ll stay just long enough to remind us all of what ungracious heathens we are before crawling back to his baths with his hundred beautiful slave women.”

            Raheed winced and couldn’t help but look around to see if anyone had heard. To talk of the caliph in such a way would warrant no less than thirty years in prison, if it didn’t result in immediate execution for treason. But Raheed couldn’t say he wasn’t used to it. Usually General Mamid restrained himself when sober, but when inebriated he had a very loose tongue and a lot of unpopular opinions. He must be in a rather terrible mood to talk about it sober.

            “Does he really have a hundred?” Raheed asked.

            “Probably more.” General Mamid pulled his canteen from his waist and took a swig. He looked at Raheed out of the corner of his eye. “Eh, don’t look so jealous. Give it a few years before his dick falls off. You fuck that many women for so long and you’re bound to get some _disease_.”

            “I just don’t know how he finds the time to _rule_.”

            “He doesn’t, that’s what.” General Mamid pulled his horse to an abrupt stop. Raheed hadn’t realized the boy running toward them until now. General Mamid’s usual servant had fallen very ill suddenly, and the general had sent him home to either die or get better, whichever was more likely. Raheed noticed that while General Mamid was never cruel to his servants, he never made any efforts to befriend them either. Raheed might have wondered why years ago, but now he knew. If you made friends, you also lost them. It was easier to keep everyone at an arm’s length.

            “Master Mamid,” the boy gasped, bowing quickly and then holding up a scroll tied with a ribbon. The general bent down and snatched up the scroll, unrolling it and reading it quickly.

            “I wanted to see about my living arrangements,” General Mamid muttered as he reached the end of the letter. “The last thing I want to do is keep living at the barracks.”

            “You could live with Elder Hassad until you find some place, sir,” Raheed offered. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

            General Mamid shook his head. “That old coot would drive me crazy. Besides,” He held up the scroll in his hand, “I already have an offer.”

            “May I ask who, sir?”

            “Nope.” General Mamid shoved the scrowl beneath his belt and turned to his servant. “I believe there is a party tonight at the palace. Raheed and I both will be attending. I want you to send word.”

            “Sir?” Raheed asked cluelessly.

            “You’re coming with me because I’m going to be too drunk to tolerate anyone else,” General Mamid said.

            “Oh. But—”

            “Had other plans?”

            “No, sir. It’s just . . . what do I wear? I don’t have anything—”

            “Go naked, for all I care.” General Mamid slapped Raheed in the chest with a smirk. “Maybe it’d get us both banned from future parties, eh? What a blessing from God that’d be.”


	22. The Palace

           Asan knocked on the door, not because he could hear Raheed’s reply but because it gave warning to his entrance. Normally he would have taken a few moments to appreciate Raheed sitting naked in a tub, but they were running out of time, and Asan was rather fed-up with Raheed’s childish resistance.

            “Five more minutes,” Raheed muttered, sinking deeper into the copper basin.

            _No_ , Asan replied, holding up the arm over which Raheed’s new caftan was draped. _You will be late_.

            “I don’t think you _can_ be late. Don’t you just show up whenever you like?”

            _Why are you asking me? Do I go to parties_?

            “Do _I_?” Raheed sighed, his head thunking back on the lip of the tub. “This is going to be miserable.” When he lifted his head, his eyes were narrowed at Asan. “You’re already dressed?”

            _You asked me to_.

            Raheed ran a hand over his face, then pulled it away and frowned at it. “I need to shave.”

            With a sigh of annoyance, Asan placed the caftan on a chair and headed for Raheed. Raheed waved him away, but Asan continued anyway, snatching up the towel thrown over the side of the basin and thrusting it at Raheed. He was very determined not to look anywhere below Raheed’s neck.

            “Ugh.” Raheed grabbed the towel and used it to dry his face before tying it around his waist.

            Asan quickly gathered the blade and soap that Raheed used to shave and gestured that Raheed occupy a chair by the window. Raheed normally shaved himself, but considering their destination tonight, Raheed needed a better trim than the one achieved by looking into an old, warped mirror.

            “You know how to shave?” Raheed asked.

            Asan glared at him.

            “What? How old are you now?”

            _Nineteen!_

“Oh. Right. I guess I still see you as a—hey! Don’t come at me with that thing like that.”

            Asan rolled his eyes as he put away the shaving blade and handed the soap to Raheed. _Soap up_.

            “Yes, _sir_ ,” Raheed replied, grabbing the soap and then using it to coat the shag around his jaw, chin, and upper lip.

            Asan tilted Raheed’s chin so that he could get a better angle before slowly running the blade along Raheed’s jawline. He tried to keep his mind on his work, considering any distraction might result in a cut. Even as Asan told himself there was nothing intimate about shaving another man’s beard, the proximity of Raheed’s mouth and the texture of his skin had Asan’s blood pumping loudly in his ears. He wondered if Raheed could hear the pounding of his heart or perhaps sense the sheen of sweat gathering on his palms.

            Taking a deep breath, Asan angled the blade to scrape along the fuzz growing underneath Raheed’s jaw and above his neck. Asan’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as his eyes traced the tendons there, as well as the few curls that swirled around his ears. Asan wanted to press his nose into the hollow where the tendons met the dip of the collarbone, wanted to just spend a few moments reveling in his scent and taste . . .

            Asan jerked himself out of the fantasy and bit his lip hard enough to feel pain. That sort of thinking wasn’t allowed, especially not with Raheed so close. The last thing he wanted was explain his erection to Raheed.          

            Finally the beard was done and Asan took a step back with a sigh of relief. He thought he’d might enjoy shaving Raheed, but now he realized it was more painful than pleasurable. He scurried over to where he’d laid the caftan, then returned to Raheed, who was using a damp towel to wipe his face, the exact one he’d tied about his waist after his bath, leaving him naked once more. His beard now made a circle aross his upper lip, down either side of his mouth, and connecting at the base of his chin: the beard of a military officer. Asan found himself concentrating very hard on that instead of . . . well, the rest of Raheed.

            “This caftan looks . . . flowery,” Raheed said as he observed the outfit that Asan held up.

            _It’s the style_.

            “You’re sure?”

            _I’ve lived here for the past three years. I know_.

            Raheed didn’t look convinced but sighed and grabbed the undergarment that Asan had supplied. Asan was able to relax once most of Raheed’s body was covered by the shapeless white robe, even if it was partially see through in good lighting. Pulling Raheed’s arms out, Asan helped Raheed into the embroidered caftan he’d purchased less than two hours earlier. Raheed had put Asan in charge of finding something, claiming no interest in fashion or shopping. Asan didn’t much care about fashion either, but he did like having more than a few _immas_ in his hand. And the thought of Raheed wearing whatever he bought made it slightly more exciting.

            “Eh, it doesn’t look too bad,” Raheed said as he looked into the warped mirror hanging from the wall. “It’s pretty heavy.”

            Asan handed Raheed a pair of trousers to slip on under the robe. Then he grabbed a few multi-colored scarves that he’d also purchased and began to belt the caftan at the waist. He and Raheed were almost the same height now, even if Raheed was still a bit thicker. Asan had always imagined Raheed as big and heroic, but now that they were nearly eye-to-eye, Asan’s view of him had changed. He still wasn’t sure _how_ it had changed. Only that it had.

            After tying off the scarves, Asan picked up Raheed’s belt and scabbard and attached those as well, since it was a tradition that soldiers carry their weapons at all times, even at parties.

            “Okay, the flowers are growing on me,” Raheed muttered, still looking in the mirror. “What do you think?”

            Asan smiled and nodded. _I think you look very handsome_. If only Asan could tell him _how handsome_.

            “Yeah?” Raheed turned in the mirror, frowning at his reflection. Then he shrugged. “Okay, sure. What’s going on my head?”

            _A turban_.

            “I figured.”

            _Here_. Asan grabbed another swathe of deep blue fabric. Blue was the most expensive dye, considering it came from _lapis lazuli_ , a stone found in mines at the most northwestern border of the empire. It was in high demand even across the seas and beyond the empire, so usually only wealthy merchants and nobles indulged in it. Buying an entire blue wardrobe would have been beyond Raheed’s monetary means, but Asan figured a turban would be cheaper. He’d actually spent more on this than the entire caftan.

            “Wow. That’s impressive. You were able to afford that with what I gave you?”

            _Barely_. Asan motioned for Raheed to bend lower so that Asan could wrap the fabric around his head. It was a crime to cover up such gorgeous hair, but Asan took a small bit of pride in knowing he was one of the few who got to see it.

            After the turban was wrapped, Raheed slipped into the beaded shoes that Asan provided. Asan was already mostly dressed, save a cap he pinned to the back of his head and his slippers. Together, they said goodnight to Elder Hassad and proceeded to the front yard, where Ahmbra was waiting impatiently.

            _Can she carry two_? Asan asked.

            “She’s much stronger than she looks.”

            Asan attempted to mount her, but it was very different from mounting a camel. It required lifting his leg high enough to get it into the stirrup, but the stirrup kept twisting and his toe kept sliding from it. When he did manage to get his foot in, he couldn’t scramble up onto her back, even with Raheed’s instruction. Finally, with a laugh, Raheed took Asan by the waist and tossed him up on top of her. Raheed then faced her shoulder, grabbed a handful of her mane, and threw himself across her back, as if it were the simplest thing. Raheed chuckled again at the sour look on Asan’s face.

            “You ride in the saddle,” Raheed said, Asan twisting around to watch his hands. “I’ll ride on her butt.”

            Raheed started their ride at a trot, but after Asan almost fell off twice, Raheed pulled her down to a fast walk. Asan marveled at the differences between a horse and a camel. He wasn’t used to the animal’s head being so close, nor being able to practically wrap his legs around her abdomen.

            _It’s too bad we can’t gallop her_ , Raheed said, his arms wrapped around Asan far enough that Asan could see his signs without turning around to watch him. Some of them were confusing, considering they included interaction with one’s face, but Asan was able to patch it together. _It’s great fun_.

            Asan twisted to face Raheed, signing, _I think I’m fine._

            Raheed laughed, and Asan couldn’t help but smile. He loved Raheed the most when he was in a good mood, cheerful and grinning. It was the Raheed he’d initially favored.

            It was a long ride and not nearly as comfortable as riding a camel. But finally the palace loomed, and Asan remembered that he was terrified.

 

* * *

 

            Raheed had expected some formal entrance, perhaps one in which he’d be introduced to the caliph, or maybe an advisor, or an advisor of an advisor, and then he’d be escorted into some ballroom where he’d have to sit through boring speeches until he wanted to take his own life. But there wasn’t much of that. The place was teeming with guards, but upon seeing Raheed, they merely saluted and allowed his entry.

            Beyond the palace walls was an enormous marble plaza, in the center of which stood a stone pillar and a fountain. Around the pillar was written condensed, barely-comprehensible script, the type one often found in old temples. The pillar was decorated with different colored stones, and the fountain itself was embellished with kaleidoscopic mosaics of a wondrous garden.

            Raheed and Asan made their way past the pillar and through the monstrous archway beyond it. It seemed that every surface had been decorated to the point of decadence. Raheed knew the palace was old and that every caliph had additions and changes made to it. Perhaps they’d finally run out of things to cover with finery. Either way, it took Raheed and Asan both a bit of time to wander through the front door, as they were so interested in observing the beauty around them. Raheed even quizzed Asan on the more difficult script, most of which Asan could not interpret. Hell, some of it was even a mystery to Raheed.

            Finally they drifted into what Raheed assumed was a reception hall, a wide-open space with a most elaborate muqarnas ceiling Raheed had ever seen. Beneath them was another mosaic, this one including gold leaf and lapis lazuli.

            Raheed’s attention was pulled from the architecture when several men in long, violet robes drifted into the room, carrying silver goblets and laughing amongst themselves. They paused upon seeing Raheed.

            “You must be here for the party,” the one said, slurring his words with a laugh. He jabbed his thumb behind him. “That way. Keep straight until you hit the gardens. All the excitement is there.”

            “Thank you, sir.”

            Raheed and Asan followed the man’s directions  until they found the gardens, the aroma of flowers so overwhelming that Raheed sneezed several times before entering. He’d never seen anything so extravagant, but by now he figured he should be used to this sort of thing. He’d only be surprised if he saw something plain.

            There were plenty of men here, most of them older and sporting thicker beards than Raheed. There was an occasional servant rushing about, as well as what Raheed assumed to be an occasional whore. They were dressed a tad more conservatively than the woman at the brothel Raheed frequented, but Raheed doubted they were these men’s wives, not when they were being watched with such obvious appreciation.

            “There you are,” came a cry to Raheed’s left. He skirted a fountain and an explosion of tropical plants in order to make it to General Mamid, who was already drunk, judging by the flush in his face. “So kind of you to make it.”

            “Sir, I—”

            “You look sharp, dontcha?” The general staggered, then grabbed Asan’s shoulder to remain upright. Asan looked shocked, but remained still so that General Mamid could catch his balance. “You clean up alright, I suppose.”

            “Am I late, sir?”

            “No, no, noooo _._ You’re just on time. Whenever you show up, you’re on time.” General Mamid turned to Asan, as if finally realizing he was there. “So this is that boy, eh? The one you’ve mentioned a few times?”

            “Yes, sir. Asan.”

            “Asan.” General Mamid stared at Asan blearily as Asan bowed low at the waist. When Asan straightened, General Mamid lost interest and turned back to Raheed. “You know, this hasn’t been so bad. I haven’t seen the caliph all night. Such a shame, really. A shame.” Then his eyes darted to something behind Raheed, and he frowned. “Oh shit. I was having such a good time too.”

            Raheed turned, expecting to see the caliph. Instead he saw someone much worse.

            “I see you’re doing what you do best,” came the sharp, haughty voice of the Lieutenant General Yussam, stopping just left of Raheed as he faced General Mamid with a sneer. “I suppose you’re preparing yourself for your second greatest talent, bedding whores.”

            “I’m too drunk to deal with your shit,” General Mamid snarled, stumbling forward and poking the lieutenant on the chest. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

            “I may be lieutenant general, but I’m also Mulli-by-blood, which makes our station about equal.”

            “Pah.” General Mamid waved him away. “I’m going to go throw up. I prefer that to your company anyway.”

            Then General Mamid walked away, swaying and reaching out to grab an occasional bench or tree to steady himself. Before he vanished around a corner, Raheed saw him touch the shoulder of a nearby woman. She tossed him a strained smile before moving away.

            “What a joke,” Yussam snapped. “To think that man runs the whole army.”

            “He’s not in charge of running anything tonight, sir.”

            “Right. I know you. You’re that captain who got promoted for tonguing his ass.” Yussam faced Raheed with an expression of disgust.

            “I believe it was for my talents in the field, sir, but perhaps it was also for tonguing his ass.”

            “Don’t.” Yussam took a step closer, jabbing a finger in Raheed’s face. “You’ll show me proper deference, do you understand?”

            Raheed just nodded, hoping not to stir the pot. Raheed knew enough about Yussam to know that encouraging his ire was not an intelligent strategy.

            Yussam opened his mouth to say something else, but then his eyes flickered to Asan, who was cringing and attempting to hide his face. Yussam’s expression went from disdainful to wrathful.

            “I remember that boy.”

            “Excuse me, sir?” Raheed asked.

            Yussam stepped forward and grabbed a handful of Asan’s caftan. Asan let out a bleat of surprise but was quickly silenced when Yussam shook him. Raheed grabbed onto Yussam’s arm, but Yussam threw him off.

            “Yes, you’re that boy who struck those soldier boys, aren’t you? If I’d had my way, you’d still be in prison.”

            “Sir!” Raheed grabbed Asan’s shoulder and pushed him back, ripping Yussam’s grip from his robes. Yussam shoved Raheed out of the way and took a few steps forward, his form so rigid that Asan instantly fell to his knees, wrapping his arms over his head to protect it. Yussam got in one kick before Raheed tore him away.

            “Sir, no disrespect intended, but _don’t touch my servant again_.” Raheed planted himself between Yussam and a terrified Asan, who was still cowering on the cobblestone.

            “ _Your_ servant? Isn’t he Elder Hassad’s?”

            Raheed frowned. “Yes, but he is also mine.”

            “Elder Hassad should have warned you then. That boy is dangerous and doesn’t know his place.” Yussam’s eyes narrowed at Raheed and took a step closer, putting them at head-butting distance. “But I suppose he learned it from someone.”

            Raheed said nothing.

            “I outrank you, and if I want to beat your servant, I’m well-entitled to it.”

            “You do not outrank Elder Hassad, and I think he would be rather displeased to find his servant assaulted for no reason. Sir.”

            “Hiding behind that old loon? Of course you are. Best tell on me to General Mamid as well. I expect so much from a _bhanak_.”

            There were many things Raheed would have liked to say, but knew that if he said them, he could be punished by law. He was already toeing the line of what Mulli was able to prosecute.

            “If I see that servant step one toe out of line, he’ll be answering to me. And so will you,” Yussam growled before turning and stalking away, black cape billowing behind him.

            Sighing in relief, Raheed bent down to help Asan to a stand. Asan quickly swept his hair out of his face and adjusted his robes, attempting to look casual but not exactly fooling Raheed. His shoulders were hunched, his face pale.

            “Best stay out of his way,” Raheed whispered to Asan. “What’s the story behind that one anyway?”

            _A tale for later_ , Asan replied, his movements stilted. Raheed briefly reached out and squeezed Asan’s arm, offering silent comfort. Asan’s smile was subdued but honest, and together they headed deeper into the party.

 

* * *

 

            Despite Yussam’s efforts to ruin all the fun, Raheed was shocked to find himself enjoying the party. While he was mostly surrounded by older, Mulli-by-blood nobility, they seemed more interested in getting drunk than they did in putting on airs. And like most men their age, they liked to joke around with younger men in hopes of regaining a scrap of that heedless youth they had lost years ago. Despite Raheed being far below their station, they drank with him and joked with him and kept his stomach full with delectable pastries and fruit, prepared with such exorbitance that Raheed sometimes wondered if he was eating food or art. He was shocked to find that some of the women were joining the festivities, laughing and challenging one another’s wit in the same way their male counterparts did. Raheed assumed them to be courtesans, the sort old rich men kept because they weren’t just beautiful but interesting and intelligent as well. Hell, the men even addressed Asan once or twice, yet as Raheed’s mood lightened, Asan’s soured. Clearly he was not the partying type, probably something Elder Hassad instilled in him.

            Finally they brought out several golden hookahs, the entrance of which was greeted with cries of approval. Raheed didn’t see the point of such gaiety; they were just hookahs. But then General Mamid leaned in and explained in a whisper, “This tobacco’s made from poppy.”

            “Poppy?” Raheed, of course, was familiar with the flower and its soporific effects, but he’d never seen it smoked on a hookah before.

            “You’ll see.” General Mamid smirked, and that was all the explanation Raheed received before a hose was handed to him. When he looked at Asan, Asan shook his head. But Raheed wasn’t going to be the one person who didn’t join, as it would be considered rude. So he smoked, and General Mamid nodded in approval.

 

* * *

 

            Ahmbra lifted her head, perking her ears as Asan and Raheed approached. Normally she was a nervous horse, but seeing Raheed stumbling about seemed to make her even more jittery. She pawed at the ground before side-stepping and swinging her head, jerking at the reins tied to the hitching post. Raheed had thought it better to tie her on the street instead of dealing with the stables and finding someone awake to retrieve her. Asan worried that she’d tear her own bit out of her mouth with the way she was violently dancing.

            “This is the longest walk of my _life_ ,” Raheed chortled, grabbing a fistful of Asan’s caftan before leaning his forehead on his shoulder. “Oh look, there’s my horse.”

            With a frown, Asan shifted Raheed’s weight once more and covered the rest of the distance between the horse and them. Ahmbra darted out of Asan’s reach, shaking her head and pawing. Asan’s patience was already as thin as paper. He once again yearned for a sensible camel instead of this stupid flighty horse. She looked pretty alright, but she must have had a very small brain.

            Asan finally grabbed a hold of her head and jerked on the bit, hoping it might calm her. She just threw her head up, nearly tearing her reins. Raheed released Asan and stumbled against his mare, running his hand along her sweaty hide before she moved. Raheed would have fallen to the ground had Asan not grabbed his belt and pulled him straight.

            “Get on horse,” Asan tried to say, because he and Elder Hassad had been working on actual speech. He wasn’t sure if he managed to say it right though, because Raheed remained totally useless and simply gave Asan a stupid grin. Asan frowned and held Ahmbra’s reins closer to the bit in hopes of gaining better control. Then he pushed Raheed against her saddle, hoping he would climb aboard. Raheed lifted a foot halfway before slouching and giggling against his horse’s mane. Asan had to resist the urge to slap him, even if he could probably get away with it. He doubted Raheed would remember anything by tomorrow. Whatever was in that hookah made him beyond incapable.

            “I’m so tired,” Raheed said, swaying as Ahmbra shifted. “I will just sleep here.”

            Asan grabbed a stirrup and held it out for Raheed. Raheed stared at it a long time, eyes narrowing as if totally confused to what Asan wanted. Finally he raised a foot about three inches off of the ground. Then he started laughing again.

            Asan looked helplessly around the empty street. It was probably past midnight now, and they’d be lucky to get home without being robbed, if they got home at all.

            Raheed stumbled forward, propping himself up by throwing one arm across Asan’s shoulder. He lifted the other hand to stroke Asan’s face. Asan slapped the hand away.

            “Your face feels like a pillow,” Raheed slurred, then giggled.

            Asan took two fistfuls of Raheed’s caftan, spun him around, and tossed him at the horse. Then he grabbed Raheed’s foot and manually placed it into a stirrup. It slid out immediately.

            With a groan of frustration, Asan began to pace back and forth. Ahmbra at least seemed to finally calm down, stretching around and sniffing Raheed before snorting and pulling away. It seemed she felt the same way as Asan did.

            “Asan?” Raheed said as he grabbed Ahmbra’s saddle and leaned his torso against her. “Hey, Asan.”

            _I hate you sometimes_ , Asan signed forcefully. He’d never admit such a thing, but Raheed was in such a state that he’d probably never remember. _Why do you do this?_

            “Why do you look so angry? _Geeeez_.” Raheed tried to walk forward, lost his balance, and fell back against his horse. Ahmbra moved away from his weight, and Raheed collapsed to the ground in a flurry of robes, his turban toppling from his head. Asan rushed forward to help him upright, in case Ahmbra were to step on him. But maybe she should step on him. It’d serve him right for being so stupid.

            “Wait, Asan, wait.” Raheed grabbed at Asan’s robes until Asan knelt beside him, supporting Raheed with an arm around his shoulders. “We need to go to the southern docks. Malli is there. I want to see Malli.”

            _I’m taking you home_.

            “Malli _is_ home. I love her.” Then Raheed’s eyes grew wide as a grin split his face. “I love her, Asan! I really do! I’m—I’m going to buy a ship, and she and I will sail away together and be with one another for . . . forever.”  
            Even in Raheed’s delusional state, Asan couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt. He shouldn’t be surprised that love severed all ties but one. Asan was just a servant and had no place in Raheed’s unrealistic romantic dreams.

            _Malli can wait_.

            “ _Nooo_. I want to see her right now. Take me there. I order you.”

            Asan shook his head.

“I _order you!_ ”

            Asan rolled his eyes, which apparently angered Raheed so much that he made a fist and let if fly. Asan easily caught it and pushed it away, resulting in Raheed’s distressed cry. Well, that’s what it looked like anyway.

            Then Raheed’s head dropped against Asan’s shoulder. He said something, judging by the breath on Asan’s throat, but Asan couldn’t read his lips from this angle. So Asan just patted Raheed’s back awkwardly, once again swallowed by uncertainty. How the hell were they going to get home with Raheed in such a state? Asan had seen him drunk before, but never this incoherent.

            Raheed’s head dropped back, his eyes blown wide. He was practically a doll in Asan’s arms, his expression softer and more compliant than Asan had ever seen it. It made Asan’s blood run hot, which truly exposed the depth of Asan’s depravity.

            “Can we just sit here?” Raheed said. “I don’t think I can stand.”

            _We have to get home_.

            “I’ll just sleep here.” Raheed’s head fell back to Asan’s shoulder, his hands fisting Asan’s caftan. Asan sighed, wondering what to do now. They couldn’t stay here. So he allowed Raheed a few moments to lie against him—more for Asan’s pleasure than Raheed’s—and then crawled out from underneath him.

            _I am going to get you on this horse if it’s the last thing I do_.

            It took about twenty minutes and more of Raheed’s senseless giggling, but Asan was finally able to haul Raheed’s body halfway over his horse. It wasn’t an elegant solution, but at least it got him off the ground. Once that was finished, Asan had to wonder how _he_ was going to get up there, considering Raheed had helped him last time. He decided to straddle the hitching post—it didn’t move, unlike a still-anxious Ahmbra—and then tried to pull Ahmbra close so he could slip a leg over her. It took five tries, and on the sixth try she pulled out underneath him just as he was considering it a success. He nearly fell off but managed to grab the pommel tightly enough to stay on.

            _Now what_? Asan thought as he tried to manuever both the reins and Raheed, who was still giggling, judging by the vibration of his torso. Asan had never actually ridden a horse on his own before, so he wasn’t exactly sure how it worked. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

            Tentatively, Asan gave the reins some slack and nudged Ahmbra with his heels. She broke into an immediate trot, a pace so bouncy that Raheed nearly slid off. Asan scrambled to hold onto him, but then Ahmbra’s pace grew quicker, and Asan knew both he and Raheed would be on the street in seconds if he didn’t slow her down.

            He gathered up the reins and pulled as hard as he could. Ahmbra dug her back feet into the cobblestone and came to an abrupt halt, which also nearly threw them off.

            _Stupid horses_ , Asan thought grumpily. Then he felt Raheed’s hand fist his caftan again, trying to pull himself upright.

            Positioning Raheed on the ground was hard enough; on a horse, it was even more difficult. But Asan went to the very edge of his patience in his attempts to help Raheed to a full sit while also keeping Ahmbra at a slow walk. Finally Raheed was seated behind him, arms wrapped around Asan’s waist, his face pressed against Asan’s neck and shoulder. For a moment, Asan closed his eyes and imagined things were different, because if he could convince himself Raheed _wanted_ this, he’d feel less terrible for wanting the same.

            By the time they reached Elder Hassad’s gates, the sun was rising along the laundry-strewn rooftops of Ayllamal. Asan tried his best to be quiet, but he didn’t know what “being quiet” entailed. He tied Ahmbra behind the house so that she could drink from the trough there, then pulled a grinning, clueless Raheed into the house, allowing Raheed to rest his weight across Asan’s shoulders until they reached a bedroom upstairs. Asan had never been so relieved to dump someone on a bed.

            _There_ , Asan sighed, jabbing a finger at Raheed. _Go to sleep and don’t cause anymore trouble_.

            “I feel _amazing_ though. I can’t miss out on this.”  

            _Then lie there, what do I care_.

            Asan turned to leave, but Raheed grasped the edge of his caftan. Asan turned hesitantly, avoiding the Raheed’s blissful eyes. Raheed so rarely looked this happy; it was unnatural for him to to appear this way when it really wasn’t _him_.

            “One day we’ll run away together, Asan. You and me, across the desert to whatever lies beyond it. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

            Asan nodded.

            “It does, doesn’t it?” Raheed turned his gaze to the ceiling. “I shouldn’t be a soldier. I don’t like being a soldier. I just want a wife and a few sheep and . . .” He trailed off, his expression sobering. “I just want a little humble life, that’s all.”

            Asan placed Raheed’s fallen turban on the window ledge, as well as the cloak he’d removed. He ran his fingers along the embroidered antelope leaping against one another. Asan didn’t know if they were fighting or just running in opposite directions.

            “You’re a good person,” Raheed said. “I’m not. I’ve killed people, you know. Lots of them. People I didn’t even know.” His smile died on his mouth, though it wasn’t replaced with any of the usual fear or uncertainty. Clearly he was still not in his right mind. “What if they had wives and a few sheep?”

            _You should go to sleep. It is dawn._

“I’m tired of being alone,” Raheed continued, lifting wide black eyes to Asan. In the dim light drifting through the window, the scar on his forehead stood out against his sweaty skin, paled by whatever kind of poppy extract he was on. “I’ve never been with a woman all night. The longest I’ve ever stayed was a few hours. I have been with so many women but I’ve never . . .” His eyes widened but his tone remained the same. “I’ve never _held_ any of them, not really.”

            _I’ve never been with anyone at all_ , Asan replied. Raheed could be so selfish at times, thinking only of his own troubles. Perhaps Raheed wanted him to feel sorry for him, but Asan felt indifferent. Raheed was an officer. He made more money in a year than Asan would in a lifetime, and he bowed to very few. He could not marry, but neither could Asan. If Raheed wanted sympathy, he’d have to look someplace else.

            “I offered to—”

            _Go to sleep,_ Asan insisted, shoving Raheed back down onto the bed when he tried to rise. _I must go start breakfast_.

            Finally Raheed stilled, returning blank eyes to the ceiling. It gave Asan a chance to escape and start his chores, all without a night’s rest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** It is fun to include historical facts in my not-so-historical story. The script they were looking at in the palace was in fact [Kufic script](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HhcGxaim3c0/UIxHmErWOHI/AAAAAAAAABQ/Vx8wKwdgkb0/s1600/Kufi_Styles.gif), which is intentionally confusing because it was thought that God's words contained multiple meanings (I believe Kufic script is Shi'ite, but correct me if I'm wrong).
> 
> Also, [muqarnas ceilings](http://farm2.staticflickr.com/1036/1476518256_f2dff53deb_z.jpg). They are so complex that no one outside of the Arabic territories was ever able to duplicate them (probably because of the mathematics involved that only now are we "enlightened" westerners are finally seeing). I saw one when I saw the Alhambra, and they're straight up amazing.
> 
> Also, [lapis lazuli](http://www.gemselect.com/other-info/graphics/lapis-lazuli-gem-large_info.jpg) comes from the Afghanistan region and was extremely expensive in Europe, which is why you don't see much blue on the [Sistine Chapel](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/2e/Sistine_Chapel_ceiling_photo_2.jpg/550px-Sistine_Chapel_ceiling_photo_2.jpg), because Michaelangelo was given shitty pay and got pissed about it, so he used as little blue as possible. When the pope asked why he didn't use more blue, he told some bullshit story about how he wanted to depict the humility of the church by not being too extravagant. Oh Michaelangelo. He hated the pope. 8D
> 
> You know what also comes from Afghanistan? OPIUM. SWEEEEEET OPIUM.
> 
> Also, this isn't really related to this chapter, but since I'm a horse nerd, you may want to know. **Arab** horses are probably one of the oldest breeds in existence, and lineage is actually traced through the mares instead of the stallions, so they're seen as more valuable (and once kept in tents with the families to protect them). Also, Arabians have one less vertabrae than other horse breeds and have a shorter back because of it. They are used for endurance racing because of their ability to travel for long stretches without water, i.e. the movie Hidalgo (good movie, btw). They are easily recognized by their [super shiny dished faces](http://arabiansltd.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/12/Al-Lahab.jpg). And their great [who the fuck you think you messin' wit' ](http://us.123rf.com/400wm/400/400/maryart1/maryart10908/maryart1090800044/5431112-arab-horse-head.jpg) expressions. (no wait, that's [Appaloosas](http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs5/i/2004/300/5/2/Appaloosa_Hunter_by_somer.jpg).)
> 
>  
> 
> **History can be pretty cool. :D**


	23. For Your Trouble

 

            Asan had been given permission to organize Elder Hassad’s office, but only one wall at a time, as Elder Hassad was very particular about how he wanted books and scrolls stacked and separated. With Raheed gone for the day (and probably the night) and Elder Hassad napping in the nook by the courtyard, Asan was provided the time and solitude required for sorting Elder Hassad’s books. It wasn’t as easy of a task as he had predicted, considering that so many of the books looked so interesting to him. With Elder Hassad sleeping, Asan couldn’t help but glance under the covers of a few, running his fingers along the gold leaf calligraphy and occasional illustration. He’d thought that perhaps the magic of books would fade once he recognized script, but now his ability to understand the words made them even more fantastical. He’d mentioned one to Raheed briefly, and Raheed said that it was a common fairy tale all children were told. This delighted Asan, because he was finally catching up on all those years he was left ignorant.

            Asan paused when the light caught an insignia on a book buried beneath several scrolls. Gently pushing them aside, Asan picked up the book and scanned its cover. There was no writing, only an insignia of three scorpions entwined. It vaguely reminded him of the pin Raheed had given him before leaving for battle.

            Asan pulled back the cover. The first page was mostly script, though there was an ink drawing of a tall man in flowing robes, his face dark and mysterious. At his waist he kept several swords of varying length—a warrior, no doubt. Beneath him was written _A Hahnar soldier._

_Hahnars_. Asan had heard Raheed and Elder Hassad mention that name a few times. Apparently the scar across Raheed’s forehead had been given to him by a Hahnar soldier, so Asan had always imagined them as a fierce people.

            Asan began to read, flipping through pages occasionally to see what they offered. There were only a few drawings, but they fascinated Asan. He knew of so little beyond what he’d seen in Khafa and now, in Ayllamal. Raheed didn’t talk about his travels, and Asan had enough sense not to ask. Did he still battle Hahnars? Had the Mulli conquered them yet? A part of Asan hoped not. He loved Raheed, but he didn’t much care for war or conquering. He found it barbaric, unjust. Then again, how brave was Raheed for standing up to opponents such as the ones illustrated in this book? Asan found a new respect for him.

            One drawing showed a Hahnar standing over several camel corpses, hands covered  in blood. Another depicted a bare-breasted woman holding a baby over an open well. As Asan read, he began to fear more for Raheed’s life, if in fact Raheed was ordered to fight them again.

            Asan flipped through several pages and came across something far more intriguing. This drawing showed one man reclining, another on his back with his legs in the other’s lap. Neither were wearing any clothing, their genitalia only covered by the positioning of their bodies. Asan eyes darted down the text.

            _The Hahnars have a tradition of keeping_ jusefs _, male brides that tame lust when away at war. The_ jusef _is thought to quiet the flame that would otherwise lead men to assault the women of warring villages._        

            Asan read it several times, not exactly sure he was reading it correctly. _Male brides_? Did that mean . . .? Asan’s eyes darted back to the illustration, which was not graphic but seemed to hint at something beyond friendship. Blood pumping in his ears, Asan devoured the rest of the paragraph, but beyond that, there was no more mentioning of it. Was it even true? Or was it just folklore, like so many of the tales Asan consumed?

            A shadow across the doorway kept Asan from reading further. He snapped the book shut and shot to a stand, feeling as if he’d been caught in the center of a crime. Elder Hassad held out his hand, and with a bowed head, Asan handed over the book.

            “This was once Raheed’s,” Elder Hassad said, tracing the twisted scorpions in the center. “He brought it from the library, without my permission, and then never returned it. I don’t think I’ve ever read it.”

            Asan felt his ears flush red. Perhaps that was a good thing. _I’m sorry, Elder. I should be cleaning, not reading_.

            “Curiosity is no crime.” Elder Hassad stared at the cover for a few seconds longer before handing it back to Asan. “But perhaps you should read something more appropriate. The Hahnars are heathens, and I fear the horrors you read in that book will keep you up at night.”

            Elder Hassad was right, of course. When Asan prepared himself for bed later that night, he couldn’t get the book off his mind. But it wasn’t the camel corpses or the woman with the baby who kept him awake. It was that illustration of the two men, apparently comfortable with each other’s nudity and sharing casual contact. To think that there was a place out there somewhere that could possibly understand how Asan felt . . .  Maybe it was something completely different, an act of necessity with no love or true sexual desire involved. Asan would never know unless he met a Hahnar, and he’d never seen someone so dark-skinned in the marketplace. Hahnars, it seemed, did not wander into Mulli territory, even for trade.

            After trying to quiet his tumbling thoughts, Asan slipped into an uneasy sleep. The dark bliss of slumber did not last for long, because when Asan opened his eyes again, he was standing in the center of a rather vivid dream.

            In all directions, all Asan could see was flat desert and azul sky. There was a slight haze where the two met, but beyond that, there was nothing, not even a shrub or salamander. The heat felt intense, but Asan was not uncomfortable. He wore only a long thing robe and simple sandals, his head completely exposed to the intensity of the sun. But as far as Asan could see, there _was_ no sun, just blue sky in a seamless canopy above him.

            Asan began walking forward, shocked at the ease and length of his strides. He must have walked for a good ten minutes before he spotted a line on the horizon. As he closed in, he realized it was a wall, stretching into infinity on both sides. It stood several stories high, made of yellow stone and completely unremarkable. But as Asan walked closer, he saw that there were carvings, which he recognized instantly as the drawings he’d seen in the book of Hahnars. They seemed strange and twisted to him, as their proportions were off and their quality differed from that rendered in pen and ink on the page. But when he stopped at the foot of the wall, he lifted a hand to run his fingers along the gouged stone. Each figure was massive, their hands the size of his head.

            He walked along the wall, looking for the illustration of the _jusefs_ he’d seen. But he couldn’t find it. Instead, he was greeted by the figure on the first page, draped in robes, hand clutching the curved sword at his waist. Asan felt content just looking up at him, lost in awe of the carving’s enormity.

            Something glinted in the sunlight at the carving’s feet. Asan bent low to get a better look at it before realizing it was gold. He quickly brushed aside the sand covering it. It looked like some sort of pin. In fact, it almost exactly resembled the one Raheed—

            Asan dug beneath the neckline of his robe, but of course it had no pockets. Yet since there were no laws in dream worlds, Asan was holding the pin when he withdrew his hand, the old, weathered trinket that Raheed had given him before leaving for battle. Its tarnished surface was nothing like the pin in his opposite hand, the one he’d found in the sand. This new one glittered as if it had been just been pulled from the fires of a goldsmith, the scorpion’s body decorated with tiny rubies, its eyes with diamonds. At first Asan assumed them to be the same pin, but when he looked closer he saw that the scorpion on the gold pin held its legs closer to its body, circled by two stalks of wheat.            

            Asan ran his fingers along the pin, amazed at its beauty. If he sold this in the marketplace, he’d have enough to buy a small pack of camels and a house. His heart constricted at the thought.

            After pressing a hand gently against the engraved Hahnar in thanks, Asan fastened both pins to his robe and began his journey back to where he’d come.

 

* * *

 

            Of course, Raheed was impossibly drunk.

            Some of his fellow officers had invited him out for some wine and hookah, which of course was military lingo for “whores”. Raheed didn’t see the harm in it and followed them down to the southern docks, where they jumped from whorehouse to whorehouse, drinking and slobbering on some well-tipped server girls. Raheed considered spending the night with a few, but he was still in the process of saving up for another night with Malli, and he wanted a night with her more than he wanted an hour with one of the server girls, even though many of the girls seemed sweet on him.

            “How come they always like you so much?” complained Kassar, his eyes following the rear end of a nearby serving girl. “What’s your secret?”  
            “Oh, I don’t know.” Raheed reached into the closest silver dish and extracted an olive to suck. “Being handsome, maybe?”

            Yomeq and Adallam both chortled at this.

            “Tough luck, brother,” Yomeq told Kassar, chuckling as Kassar shrugged him off.

            “We can’t all be handsome. If we were all handsome, no one would be.”

            A serving girl bent to refill Raheed’s tumbler with _arak_ , which was much stronger than wine, making it a preferred drink of many soldiers. Raheed admired the curve of her form, his eyes darting to hers when she looked at him. He grinned in his most unarming manner, and she faced him with a smile of her own. He didn’t know if it was real or not, but at this point, he didn’t much care.

            “What’s your name?” Raheed murmured to her.

            “Umal,” the girl replied, her accent thick. She was not from the central Mulli region, that much was certain.

            “Umal. A strong name for a woman who brings me strong drinks.” He raised his glass and saluted her. “This is for you.” Then he tossed it back.

            “What did you say your name was?” exclaimed Yomeq from across the squat table.

            Umal visibly tensed, but her smile remained the same. “Umal.”

            “I swear, girls always refill him first,” muttered Kassar.

            Raheed held up his drink as he fought to control the spasms in his throat. “Women have such good taste.”

            “I assume you’re all in the army,” Umal said, refilling the glasses thrust at her all while keeping her eyes on Raheed. Raheed knew that the instincts of whores were very sharp, and he knew why that was why so many preferred him. Unlike so many officers, he had never harmed or threatened a woman, and perhaps they saw that in him.

            Or maybe he was just handsome.

            “Captains. All of us.” Raheed cleared his throat. “Kassar and I know each other from the battle field, but Yomeq and Adallam are new. I met them several weeks ago, as we’re all back here for further training.”

            “Well, I’ll do my best to accommodate you.” Umal’s eyes met Raheed’s. Raheed considered blowing all the money he saved for Malli on Umal, since she was a rather pretty creature with a bit of a spark in her eye. But then his drunken mind swam back to Malli and all the things he couldn’t wait to experience again. Umal was pretty, but she was not Malli, and Raheed would not sacrifice his time with her for a quick roll in the hay with an average serving girl, tempting as it was.

            “Just keep the _arak_ flowing, if you don’t mind.”

            Umal nodded her head and drifted away. Kassar frowned as he watched her go.

            “I think she liked you,” Kassar said. “But what else is new?”

            “Eh, Raheed’s saving up for that woman he likes so much from the White House,” muttered Adallam.

            “What’s the difference, really? They all do the same thing.”

            “Yomeq, that’s like telling me a donkey and a Royal Stallion are the same thing. You can ride them both, right?”

            Yomeq shrugged. “If the stallion costs me as much as a month’s pay, I’m just as happy with the donkey.”

            “You would say that,” Kassar replied. “You do fuck anything that moves. Donkeys move, don’t they?”

            Yomeq swatted him as Kassar laughed. Raheed cradled his head a moment, feeling overwhelmed by the swell of noise and heat within the brothel. He excused himself briefly so that he could stagger out into the courtyard and vomit into the bushes. A woman shouted at him, but he ignored her and collapsed on the steps, vision swimming. He had no idea how to get home. Maybe he’d just sleep here. It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered such a thing. Even though Asan would judge him as harshly as Elder Hassad had taught him to, Raheed wished his servant were here with him. Then he might be able to make it home without being mugged and murdered.

            “Are you okay?” asked a familiar voice. Raheed tilted his head back and looked up at Umal, who had knelt just behind him.

            “Just drunk and sick,” Raheed muttered.

            “Did you bring a horse?”

            “No.” Raheed struggled to sit upright. “Is there a room I can stay in?”

            “Only if you pay for a girl.”

            Raheed groaned and rubbed his forehead. “I can’t do that. I’m saving up for . . . something important.”

            “Like what?”

            “Like a woman at the White House.”

            Umal sobered. “That’s a very expensive woman.”

            “Yes, well . . .” Raheed grinned stupidly at her. “Men like me . . . we don’t come cheap.”

             Umal shook her head with a cluck of her tongue and reached out to grab onto him. “If you pay me a few _immas_ , I’ll take you there.”

            “Where?”

            “To the White House.”

            “Really?”

            “Of course.”

            Raheed clumsily patted Umal’s cheek. “Thank you. You’re sweet. I’d share your bed if I weren’t . . . if there weren’t this other woman—”

            Umal only nodded. “It’s fine. Come. Lean on me, and I’ll help you up.”

 

* * *

 

            When Raheed woke up, he had no idea where he was or how he got there, and to make things worse, his skull felt like it had been dragged through the desert by a pack of camels. With a groan, he pulled his head from what looked like a velvet pillow and squinted in the light that assaulted him. For a second he attempted to take in his surroundings, but then he heard something move behind him, and his battle instincts kicked in. He twisted around and grabbed for the sword at his waist. But he wasn’t wearing his scabbard, or his belt that carried it. Come to think of it, he was missing his shoes and cloak as well.

            After patting his waist, he lifted his eyes to the offender.

            Samid stood over him.

            “What . . .” Raheed glared at Samid a second, then attempted once more to remember what had happened last night. The only thing he could recall was heading for the southern docks with friends. “ _Please_ tell me that what I think might have happened did not in fact happen.”

            Samid crossed his arms over his bare chest, the kohl around his eyes smudged and his hair unkempt. Something rolled over in Raheed’s gut.

            “Are you kidding—”

            “No, you didn’t _fuck_ me,” Samid sighed, crossing the small room—much smaller than Malli’s, in fact—and grabbing Raheed’s cloak, which was hanging from a nail in the plaster wall. “I did in fact take you in when you were a drunken mess, rambling on about Malli.”

            “Why are my shoes missing?”

            “Do you sleep in your shoes?”

            “You took my sword.”

            “This?” Samid held up the scabbard. When Raheed moved to retrieve it, Samid jerked the blade from its leather pouch and pointed it at Raheed. Even though Raheed knew that Samid hadn’t any idea how to wield a sword, he put his hands in the air in surrender.

            “Yes. That.”

            Samid dropped the sword on the floor. The clatter was loud enough to spook the birds perched on the window sill. Raheed winced and held both fists to his ears, groaning in pain.

            “Oops. I dropped it,” Samid said in a monotone.

            “Where is Malli?” Raheed asked once the agony in his head returned to its usual dull throb.

            “Can I ask a better question? What were you doing swaggering in here in the middle of the night, inebriated and hanging on a prostitute from another brothel?”

            “I . . . don’t know.” Raheed frowned. “What prostitute?”

            “She said you wanted to come here.”

            “Oh.” Raheed sighed and scratched his head. His turban had been unwrapped, its fabric rolled up near the foot of the bed. His hair felt stiff with dried sweat. He must smell lovely. “Well, I can’t be accountable for my actions when I’m drunk.”

            “Because you’re a captain, I suppose.” Samid turned and picked up the boots behind the door, then tossed them to Raheed. “I believe these are yours.”

            The thump they made felt like two daggers digging through his eyes and into his brain. He glared at Samid. “Would you stop that?”

            “Stop what?”

            “Where is Malli?”

            “You’ve been asking that question ever since you showed up. She’s not available now and she wasn’t available last night.”

            “Maybe she’s available and you’re keeping me from her.”

            “Maybe.” Samid leaned against the wall. “I just saved you a lot of embarrassment though. You think she wants to see a blubbering drunkard? How attractive.”

            “So you brought me to _your_ room?”

            “What else could I do? Toss you out on the street? Drunkards aren’t allowed in this place, not when customers come here expecting the utmost professionalism. Besides,” Samid looked away, “I wasn’t busy.”

            Raheed sighed, hand slipping beneath the belted fabric at his waist to make sure his money was still there. He felt its weight, though who knew if Samid had rifled through for a few coins. If he was capable of robbing Asan in the middle of the day in public, he certainly wouldn’t be above snagging a few coins while Raheed was passed out on his bed.

            Samid wasn’t ignorant. He noticed.

            “I didn’t steal anything from you.”

            “Forgive me for assuming, but I know you have the propensity for it.”

            “I wouldn’t try it again, not after you threatened to cut off my hand last time.”

            With a frown, Raheed slowly stood and retrieved his sword from the floor. “For someone so hesitant to piss me off, you seem to have an odd way of treating me. Why were my shoes and sword missing, anyway?”

            “I didn’t think you should sleep in them.”

            Raheed lifted an eyebrow. Samid met his gaze coolly, jaw set. Clearly he was not easily embarrassed, marking him a whore just as well as his wardrobe did.

            “Well, thank you. I suppose.” Raheed sheathed the sword and attached the belt around his waist. “Considering you could have slit my throat with it.”

            “What good are you to me dead?”  
            “Could have stolen my money.”

            “Could have. But then I’d have a body to deal with, and there’s not much privacy in a brothel.”

            Raheed turned to the door. It was closed, but he heard faint laughter just outside.

            “This is your room then?”

            “Yes.”

            Raheed turned around, observing it. Yes, it was certainly smaller than Malli’s, about as plain as the brothel rooms he visited while abroad. The bed looked rather sad, covered only by a few thin sheets and decorated with small, humble pillows. There was a table and a tin tea set resting on top, as well as a wooden chest that most likely held Samid’s clothing. It could have been Raheed’s old room when he was fourteen—spartan, small, barely lived in.

            With a sigh, Raheed dug into his money pouch and extracted ten coins, the average price of a room in Ayllamal. “For your trouble.”

            Samid didn’t even pretend to reject it. He held out his hand, palm up. Raheed reached out to pay him, but there was the sound of heavy footsteps approaching outside, as well as a voice snapping at someone. Samid’s face lost all color as he grabbed the money Raheed offered and then pushed him out of the way.

            “The curtain,” he snapped, grabbing Raheed by the shoulders and twisting him to face the window. “Hide behind the curtain. Now.”

            It wasn’t much of a curtain, but it did drape all the way to the floor, effectively hiding Raheed’s feet as well as his figure. Samid had just shoved him behind it when the door bounced open. Raheed couldn’t see well through the fabric, but it was thin enough that he could detect the outlines of figures moving.

            “Master Mahir,” Samid said before immediately shying away as the shorter, denser guest advanced toward him.

            “You know what I want, so you’d best give it to me.”

            Samid nodded and crossed the room to the table holding up the tea set. He dug through a drawer and then pulled out a leather pouch, tinkling with the sound of the coins within. He’d barely outstretched his hand before Mahir snatched it from him.

            There was a long silence as Mahir counted the money. Samid’s entire demeanor had changed, switching from its recent confidence to the groveling fear that Raheed had witnessed from Samid’s display in the marketplace.

            “There is two hundred and twenty here.”

            “Two hundred and thirty,” Samid corrected, holding out his hand, depositing the coins Raheed had just given him.

            “Seventy short, still.”

            “I know.”

            “You know? _You know_?” growled the man. “If you _know_ then why are you seventy short, huh? Could you not _predict this_?”

            “I’m sorry, Master Mah—”

            Mahir shoved Samid so hard that Samid lost his balance and fell. Even though Samid was taller, clearly Mahir was a force to be reckoned with. Just as Samid attempted to climb to his feet, the man lifted a hand and turned the money pouch upside down, dropping two hundred and thirty coins onto the floor. Raheed couldn’t help but stifle a moan at the sound, though he certainly couldn’t complain, as he was still safe and hidden.

            “I want you to pick each of those up,” Mahir growled. “On your hands and kness like a proper whore.”

            “Master Mahir—”

            Mahir bent and smacked Samid right across the face. Raheed didn’t lament the sound this time, even though it certainly sent more pounding through his skull. He couldn’t think about his own pain when Samid was crouched on the floor, holding his hand to his cheek. Raheed considered pulling back the curtain and smacking Mahir twice as hard as Mahir had smacked Samid, but he wasn’t sure if that would only bring more suffering upon Samid’s head. So he stayed put, even when his hand itched for the hilt of his sword.

            “You are lucky,” Mahir said, speaking through his teeth, “that your pretty bitch is stupid enough to pick up your slack. I want this month _and_ last month’s fee, with interest, and Malli had better have it if you don’t want to be thrown onto the street. Because you know what happens to used-up whores on the street, don’t you, Samid?”

            Samid just nodded, still holding his face.

            Mahir turned to leave, then paused and twisted back around to face Samid. “One day she’ll get sick of paying for you, boy. But I won’t get sick of beating your ass raw, so you’d best start working harder if you value your life.”He paused. “You can pay me when you have three hundred _immas_ and not a single _imma_ less.”

            Then Mahir left, slamming the door behind him.

            Raheed quickly pushed the curtain out of the way. What he hadn’t been able to see was the trickle of blood running down Samid’s lower lip, though Samid attempted to wipe it away with the side of his hand. Raheed wasn’t sure what to do, as he’d never quite been in this situation before. So he reached over and picked up his turban from the floor, intending to sop up the blood dribbling from Samid’s mouth. But when Raheed took a step toward him, Samid shot him the most poisonous glare Raheed had ever seen from whore or soldier. He stopped in his tracks.

            “Do you want help with this?” Raheed asked as Samid scrambled to pick up all the coins that had been dropped.

            “No,” Samid replied, voice low and even. “I think you’d best just leave.”

            “I didn’t know—”  
            “Didn’t know what?” Samid snarled, eyes challenging Raheed.

            Raheed sucked in a breath and held it in for a few seconds before turning away. “I’m sorry. I will leave.”

            Samid said nothing, only continued to pick up the coins with hands that noticeably trembled. When Samid’s back was turned, Raheed reached down and pulled his pouch of money from beneath the fabric belt at his waist. He’d been about twenty _immas_ shy of buying another night with Malli, but perhaps it was the wait that made his time with her so sweet.

            Raheed draped the turban cloth loosely about his neck, then latched the cloak to his shoulders. Finally he dropped the pouch of money on Samid’s bed before slipping on his shoes and heading for the door. Samid’s head was bent, small drops of blood striking the floor as he shuffled forward. Raheed expected that he might be sobbing, but Samid made no sound save the harsh rasp of his breathing.

            Raheed placed his hand on the doorknob, but couldn’t help but turn and face Samid one more time. “Samid?”

            “What?”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Just go,” Samid sighed.

            Raheed nodded and did as he was asked.

 

* * *

 

            Asan was sweeping the kitchen floor when Messenger leaped through the doorway and began to bark. Asan put the broom away and followed the mutt to the front gate, where Raheed was standing. There was a smile on his face, which was unusual lately. He held one arm behind him, looping it through the gate so that Asan couldn’t see what it held.

            “I have a surprise for you,” Raheed said. “Close your eyes.”

            Asan made a face but closed his eyes. He felt Raheed’s hand push him back a few steps, then waited much longer than should have been necessary for Raheed to tap him again.

            Asan opened his eyes.

            Raheed was still standing there, grinning. At his side was a camel, dark in color, probably about two years old, judging by its size and stature. It wore only a ratty halter and a cut tether around its back foot, but it was easily the most beautiful camel Asan had ever seen. His eyes widened in both shock and joy, and he turned to Raheed with an open mouth, waiting for his confirmation.

            “She’s yours,” Raheed said, holding out the leadrope. “I got her for you.”

            Asan’s throat vibrated with a cry of joy before he rushed forward and tossed his arms about Raheed, forgetting himself for a few blissful moments. Raheed only laughed and pointed Asan to the camel, whom he hugged as well. She twisted her head around and mouthed his hair in typical curious camel fashion. Asan took her face in both hands and planted a firm kiss on the bridge of her nose. Meanwhile, Messenger ran circles around her, barking and spinning in excited twirls.

            “She’s not old enough to ride yet,” Raheed said, tapping Asan’s shoulder so that he could watch Raheed’s lips. “But she’s been used in caravans, so she can carry weight. Should be relatively easy to teach her new things.”

            _Thank you_ , Asan signed, beaming as he wrapped his arms around her neck again. _Thank you so much_.

            Raheed smiled. “She can help you bring back supplies from the market.”

            Asan pushed his face into her fur with a gleeful sigh. He wasn’t sure how he’d pay Raheed back for this, but it was certainly a significant debt. There had been two things Asan had wanted his whole life: the ability to communicate and a camel. Raheed had given him both, and he felt his heart swell at the thought. As stupid and frustrating and often selfish Raheed could be, Asan knew there was still a reason to love him.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There should be five more chapters to go, at least of Book One (yeah, there's a second book. I'm long winded). Also, if anyone wonders why Asan loves camels so much, [ here's why](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9X7zQ6Cb1A). Holy shit, I want oooooooone. :( They are like huge cuddly puppy dogs!


	24. Premonition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sort-of-maybe dub-con, if you're highly sensitive to it. Also, finally some slashy bits. :D

            It took a while to save up enough to see Malli, since Raheed had given most of what he’d saved to Samid. Considering Malli and Samid seemed to be friends, perhaps Samid had told her. Perhaps he hadn’t. It didn’t really matter, since Raheed didn’t do it for Malli. He’d still prefer not to deal with Samid, but he felt as if he’d done a good deed, perhaps saved Samid some suffering. Raheed had a very intense affection for whores, even ones he had no interest in. He was considering giving up on the White House all together, as he found its management poor. But he knew he’d be back, because Malli was there, and he wanted her more than anything.

            A whore by the name of Akeem took him to Malli when he arrived at the White House. She was not in her room this time but instead seated by the small pond in one of the larger courtyards. Malli was resting her feet in the water, throwing tidbits of bread to the brightly colored fish that leapt up to catch them.

             “Hello, Raheed,” she greeted, staying where she was and barely casting a glance as he approached. “It’s been a while.”

            “I’m sorry. I wanted to come sooner, but I purchased Asan a camel.”

            “Ah.” She finally lifted her head to face him, smiling softly. “How kind of you.”

            “I thought he deserved one. A few times I’ve relied on him to get me home in rather dismal states of drunkeness.”

            Malli sighed and stood, drawing her wet feet from the water. She pushed her thick braid behind her shoulder. “Samid told me about . . . that morning.”

            Raheed stiffened. “I didn’t know if he would.”

            Malli put a gentle hand on his chest. “First you buy me milk of poppy without knowing it was for me. And then you pay Samid’s debt. I don’t know if you’re trying to impress me or if you’re really so compassionate.”

            Raheed didn’t like being praised for his compassion, considering he killed far more men than he saved. “I suppose I’m just an idiot who likes to give away money.”

            Malli chuckled and played with the pin on his cloak. Raheed took her fingers in his and squeezed them.

            “I do care about you, Malli. More than anyone else.”

            Malli’s dark eyes were full of secrets as she held Raheed’s gaze. She pulled a hand from his grip and tugged at the cloth hanging from his turban. “I’ll admit you’re my favorite customer.”

            Raheed couldn’t help but grin. “Am I?”

            “Well, for now.” Malli pinched his sleeve and drew him closer. “It’s not a title one keeps indefinitely.”

            Raheed wrapped his arms around her waist and tugged her to him, and they spent several minutes just kissing in the center of the garden. There was no sound outside of bird song and the occasional laugh from another courtyard, muffled by walls and distance.

            Raheed had been trying for weeks to convince himself that he wasn’t in love with this woman, that she was just exceptionally beautiful and a talented whore and that it was all the glamor, nothing more. But holding her like this, Raheed realized that he would be happy with _just_ this if it were all Malli wanted. He wanted more than a woman who sighed when he touched her. He wanted to know her story, her passions, her dreams. He wasn’t sure how he could find out either.

            “Is he cruel to you too?” Raheed blurted as he pulled away.

            “Hmm?” She lifted her eyebrows, eyelids still at half-mast.

            “The man who hit Samid, Master Mahir.”

            She sobered immediately, soft expression growing hard. “Raheed, we’re not to talk about this.”

            “Why not?”

            She drew away from him, turning her face so that he could only see the back of her head. “It’s nothing of your concern.”

            “I want to know.”

            “Why? What good would it do?”

            Raheed sighed and sat down on a nearby boulder. “I could help out financially. I have money.”

            Malli turned back to him, eyes cold even as she struggled to retain a pleasant façade. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not about money. If I made more, he’d just put me in a bigger room and raise the rent.”

            “Look, I only want to help.”

            “I’ll tell you how you can help.” Malli strode forward and plucked the pouch of money from beneath his belt. “You can pay me for services rendered.”

            “Malli—”

            “We are not helpless. We can take care of ourselves.”

            “I know that! But no one is beyond help, no one.”

            “Raheed.” Malli took Raheed’s head in her hands as her voice quieted. “I know it is in your nature to help. You have already done too much. But there are some things that will always be the same. Brothels are businesses and businesses are run by men, for men. This is the way things are and how they will always be.”

            “But—”

            “Shh.” She put a finger over his mouth. “I dwell on sadness enough. I’ll tell you what you can do. You can make me happy for a bit, make me forget Master Mahir. You’re very good at being charming and funny. I’d like you to make me laugh.”

            Raheed sighed. It was General Mamid who had told him that if you ever needed a secret kept, you gave it to a whore. They could tell the sweetest lies and hide the most ghastly truths. Raheed didn’t want to act like nothing was wrong when there _was_. He wanted to _fix_ problems, not pretend they weren’t there.

            “I’m not in a very funny mood,” Raheed said around her finger.

            “Well.” She removed her finger and ran her hands through his hair. “Perhaps we can find you a more fitting mood to indulge.”

            Raheed hesitated, because he knew she was distracting him, throwing him off the scent. But when she smelled so redolent, her offers were too tempting to refuse.

            “Take me to your room,” Raheed said, and Malli smiled in triumph.

 

* * *

 

 

            They had long ago run over the usual hour alottment, but Malli professed not to care, and Raheed wasn’t going to argue. He liked lying in bed like this, Malli curled around him, her hair slightly tangled from their exertions. He enjoyed seeing her imperfect more than he enjoyed seeing her perfect. Her lips were still swollen and darkened from their kisses, and he could still feel the scratches that she’d left down his shoulder blades.

            Raheed stared at the ceiling as he ran a hand along Malli’s neck and shoulders, light affectionate touches that were more comforting than they were arousing. Malli sighed and kissed his chest, trailing her fingers up and down the hair that parted his torso.

            “Malli?”  
            “Hmm?”

            “I was thinking about my servant.”

            Malli chuckled. “Shouldn’t you be thinking about me?”

            “Always. But my servant is near twenty, and God, by that time in my life I’d had quite a few women.”

            “And?”

            “And maybe it’s time for him to have one as well.”

            Malli lifted herself off his chest to look down at him. “Has he asked?”

            “Asan would never ask such a thing. Far too proper. He’s not exactly the most . . . forthcoming person. He’s very reserved, except when he’s mad at me.” Raheed smiled slightly. “He’s mad at me often.”

            “Understandable.”

            “I bought him the camel. It should be enough, but well, I might not be around forever, and I think he should at least have one chance to, uh, let loose, if you understand me. And Elder Hassad would never ever fund an experience like that.”

            Malli shrugged. “He’s a servant. Aren’t there any flirtatious servants about for him to cuddle?”

            “None that I know of. Like I said, he’s reserved. Tends to stay in the house and throw himself into work. I can’t imagine him flirting with a girl. Maybe if he had an experience with one, he might be more open to it.”

            “I think you should ask him first.”

            Raheed sighed. “I wasn’t asked.”

            “And how did that work out?”

            Raheed shrugged, moving his hand to draw soft lines up the indent of Malli’s spine. “I didn’t much care for it the first time. The second time was much better. But that’s the thing, I want to make sure his first time _isn’t_ like mine. That’s why I’m asking you. You would know who would take care of him, wouldn’t you? You know women who would suit him best.”

            Malli pursed her lips. “I’ve never met him.”

            “Well, you know men and their types. He’s the quiet, loner type. Stand-offish. I imagine he’d need an affectionate girl who took her time and was patient.”

            “I don’t know, Raheed. I’d prefer it if _he_ came to me and asked.”

            “He can’t. You don’t understand his language.” Raheed sat up, and Malli straightened with him. “If I brought him here—”

            “You’re willing to pay for a whore _here_? For a servant?”

            “He’s a good servant. Loyal. Elder Hassad won’t say it, but it’s clear he’s very attached to Asan. I want him to be happy.” Raheed looked down at the wrinkled silk sheets in his lap. “We’re friends of sorts.”

            Malli was silent a while, then pushed a few sweaty strands of hair from her face. “I will ask around.”

            Raheed leaned over and kissed her firmly on the mouth. For a moment she stiffened, but then she relaxed against his lips and kissed him back.

            “Thank you,” he whispered.

            She just smiled and nodded.

             

* * *

 

 

            After a particularly intense coughing session, Asan insisted Elder Hassad spend the rest of the day in bed. Elder Hassad was more stubborn than a mule, but he looked shaken and weak, so he put up less of a fight than usual. He took Asan’s arm and leaned heavily on his servant as he was taken to his bed chamber .

            “Seems each day this body hates me more,” Elder Hassad said after Asan helped him remove his outer robes and shoes. “The mind is far more stalwart than the flesh, this I know.”

            Asan folded Elder Hassad’s robes and put them in a neat pile with the others. He filled a glass of water and placed it within arm’s reach, then ordered Messenger to stay with him. Elder Hassad complained about being fussed over, but not with his usual dedication. When Asan helpled adjust his pillows, Elder Hassad’s gnarled hand grabbed his wrist.

            “You’ve done enough now,” Elder Hassad said.

            Asan nodded and pulled his hands away.

            “You know,” Elder Hassad continued, laying his hands in his lap, “when you first arrived, I thought you would be a spine in my side.” His bleary rheumatic eyes watched Asan with the wisdom of decades. “How wrong I was.”

            Asan gave him a small smile and nodded his appreciation.

            “Now go and let me rest. I’ll send Messenger for you when I need you.”

            Asan bowed his head in acquiesence and rose to a stand. He spared only one glance back at Elder Hassad. The old man was already drifting off, his head dropping to his chest.

            Asan returned to his chores, but they didn’t much quiet his fearful mind. He was beginning to realize just how old and frail Elder Hassad had become. What would happen when he passed? Elder Hassad had mentioned that this house belonged to the temple. They certainly wouldn’t give it to Asan, and probably wouldn’t let him continue working there, even if Asan wanted to. Asan would be homeless once again, and the thought terrified him. He’d grown accustomed to Elder Hassad’s gruff but fair authority, as well as the freedom he had earned to move about the city. Asan couldn’t imagine working for anyone else, as he’d seen far more cruelty than kindness. What happened when Raheed left? Asan would have no one, except maybe his camel, whom he had named Nutmeg after his favorite spice. Maybe Asan would take her and Messenger and run away and live in the wilderness like he always wanted. If he was somehow able to breed Nutmeg, she would have a baby and he could live on the milk. He’d heard that desert herders could survive drinking only camel milk, as it was very rich.

            After picking out Nutmeg’s enclosure and feeding her the hay he’d purchased in the marketplace, he snuck into Elder Hassad’s study and began to look for the book about the Hahnars. Since his dream, he’d been itching to return to it, to read the rest that he hadn’t gotten to. He was surprised that Elder Hassad hadn’t hidden it away. It was almost as if he’d _wanted_ Asan to find it, which was ridiculous, considering its highly inappropriate subject matter. Either way, it was filed away in alphabetical order, making it a matter of finding the H section in Elder Hassad’s book collection.

            Snatching up the book, Asan ran back to Nutmeg, who was seated on the ground as she ate her hay. When Asan plopped down at her side, she twisted her head around to pull at his clothes with her long, flexible lips. He rubbed a hand down her face, scratching her forehead and playing with her ears before she returned to her hay. Keeping one hand buried in her fur, Asan pulled the book’s pages apart and began where he had left off, but not before turning back to the page of the two nude men. It wasn’t so much that they were strange and beautiful—they were—but that Asan knew he wasn’t imagining the affection beteween them like he usually did in stories. It said right there in the script— _male bride_. These men were lovers, and it made Asan’s heart leap with hope. Someone, somewhere was like him.

            After the short paragraph mentioning the _jusefs_ , nothing of them was mentioned again. Most of it talked about politics, how the Hahnars had several warring tribes who had separated from the main empire due to religious and political differences. One of those tribes was the Matij, a nomadic tribe that rejected Hahnar wealth and finery in favor of a simple life, much of which was spent fighting amongst one another. Asan considered skimming it until he saw an accompanying illustration.

            A scorpion pin.

            Now, there had been the scorpions entwined on the front, but this was only one scorpion, and it was posed in the exact same formation as the scorpion on the pin Raheed had given him. Asan fumbled to unlatch it from his cloak and hold it up against the illustration. It was an identical match.

            Raheed must have gotten this from a Matij Hahnar! They were described as being very hostile, so Raheed must not have acquired it easily.

            Asan flipped to the next page, and that was when his heart nearly stopped. This page was elaborating upon another group broken off from the Hahnars, the Khamal. And its illustration included a scorpion circled by two sheaths of wheat.

            It wasn’t possible. It was the exact pin that Asan had held in his dream! Unlike most of his dreams, his dream about the wall with its Hahnar engravings remained vivid in his mind weeks after it happened. He recalled the emptiness of the desert, the enormity of the wall, the eerie quiet of the engravings, the shimmering gold pin he pulled from the sand. And he was looking at a drawing of it, which he had never seen before.

            A creeping sensation moved along Asan’s skin, making the hair on his arms stand tall. How could he possibly have known about the Khamal insignia? He couldn’t recall seeing it anywhere else. No one talked about the Hahnars much. From what he’d gleaned from the book, they were barbaric savages that continued to elude or defeat Mulli forces. And if they were talked about at all, they were referred to as Hahnars only, nothing about the tribes that had broken away from them. If he’d seen any scorpions, they would have been the three scorpions entwined. He’d never heard of Khamal.

            Asan devoured the short text about them. Unlike the Matij, they were not nomads. They had lived on a single plot of land for at least five centuries, fighting off both Hahnars and Mullis in order to retain control of the precious springs their rocky home contained. The Khamal were ruled not by a king but a _Sumas_ , who had king-like power passed down through his sons, but he was also subject to a council called the Circle, comprised of wise women who advised him on long-term decisions. Like the Matij, they rejected the idea of supreme power and wealth. Even the _Sumas_ lived in only moderate wealth, as ostentatious decoration was seen as ungodly. But like the Hahnars, they were said to drink the blood of camels and sacrifice slaves and children to their false prophets, in order to appease their god.

            Asan went back into the house to retrieve his sketchbook, then sat back down against Nutmeg and began to sketch the insignia so that he could return Elder Hassad’s book without upset. He also wrote _jusef_ on the corner of the page so he would not forget, as well as _Khamal Hahnars_. Maybe he would ask Raheed about these things. It had to be important if he was receiving _visions_ of them. Could it possibly be telling his future? Asan wasn’t supersitious, but his skin was still prickling from the memory of his dream and its implications. How could he dream about an insignia he had never seen? Perhaps he would ask Elder Hassad, considering Elder Hassad would not scoff at the idea of premonitions. Maybe he wouldn’t approve of premonitions about Hahnars though, considering their reputation in Mulli society.

            _What do you think, Nutmeg_? Asan asked.

            Nutmeg’s jaw just swung back and forth as she ate her hay. She looked at him from beneath thick eyelashes, definitely as clueless as he was.

            He wrapped his arms about her neck and kissed her cheek. Then he returned to his reading, trying to solve a puzzle with no answer.

             

* * *

 

 

            _Where are you taking me_? Asan asked, unable to keep himself from grabbing Raheed’s waist when Ahmbra made a sharp turn. One more thing he preferred about camels was that their movements were slow, unhurried. Horses always moved as if they had somewhere urgent to be.

            Raheed twisted around to face Asan. “It’s a surprise. You’ll know soon enough.”

            Asan frowned and pulled his hands from Raheed’s waist, electing instead to grip the lip of the saddle. It wasn’t large enough for the both of them, so Asan was forced to ride behind it, which was unpleasant, considering the curve of the seat knocked him in the groin any time Ahmbra changed her pace.

            At first Asan thought they were heading toward the sea. He hoped so, considering he hadn’t the time to return to it lately. He fondly remembered his first visit, splashing through the waves and chasing seagulls as Raheed looked on. That moment felt so far away, as if he’d been just a child when it happened.

            Just as Asan was sure they were going to the beach, Raheed took a left and turned them down another street. Several minutes later, Asan knew where they were heading: the southern docks. His heart plummeted and he began to realize why Raheed might want to bring him here. He considered jumping off the horse and running in the opposite direction, but Raheed could easily chase him down, and how would Asan possibly explain? It was expected that all men wanted whores, and Raheed wouldn’t understand if Asan expressed his distaste. He might think Asan rude or inconsiderate to reject such a generous offer. After all, whores down here weren’t cheap, and a master providing his servant with one was a highly benevolent action. At least, for the _men_ involved. The last thing Asan wanted was a woman to tolerate him for an hour because of a few coins. Asan would rather be ignored than pay someone to like him. He saw it as insulting, but of course Raheed and most men would never see it like that. To them, it was normal.

            Asan only vaguely recognized the buildings, but he did recall the alleyway where he’d first met Samid and Malli. He was shocked when they stopped outside of the house’s front gate. Well, he wasn’t _shocked_ because he knew Raheed frequented this place as often as he could, but he’d figured that it was an expensive establishment. Certainly Raheed didn’t think Asan worth it, a mere servant.

            _Why this place_? Asan asked frantically as Raheed dismounted and tied Ahmbra to a hitching post. _It’s expensive_.

            Raheed shrugged and chuckled. “I think you deserve the best for your first time.” He lifted his hands to help Asan down.

            Asan ignored him, crossing his arms over his chest. _I want to go back_.

            “Don’t be stubborn. Come down.”

            _I don’t want to do this_.

            “Yes, yes, we all know that Elder Hassad wouldn’t approve. You don’t have to do _everything_ that man tells you. He’s spent his whole life holed up in a tiny dark library. He’s never _lived_ , as wise as he is. Do you want to be like that?”

            _I want to go home_.

            “Asan.” Raheed’s expression was beginning to shift from playful to authoritative, and Asan knew he wasn’t going to win this argument. Raheed allowed a certain amount of defiance with Asan, but as he aged and grew more accustomed to his status, he became less tolerant of disobedience. Asan sighed and began to climb off the horse, assisted by Raheed.

            “There you go.” Raheed’s expression was relaxed once more. “I know it’s a little frightening, but trust me, it’s _worth it_. Besides, it’s a right of passage. You’re not really a man until you’ve had a woman. I resisted it too when I was about your age. Well, a little younger. But I would have regretted it had I not given in, because there is an escape and beauty in these women that you can’t possibly imagine until you experience it. So don’t look so dour. Come on.”

            Raheed took Asan’s hand and pulled him toward the gate. They were allowed entry with no contest, and Raheed guided him into a dimly lit courtyard, thriving with a vivid collection of flowering bushes and luscious trees. Asan would have liked to admire it some more, but Raheed was already guiding him down a veranda, through a doorway, and into another garden, where Malli was waiting.

            She looked much more beautiful than she had that day in the alley, probably because she glittered with fine jewelry and silks. Her eyes were heavily lined with kohl, her hair strung with pearls and colorful beads. Even to Asan she was stunning.

            Malli smiled at Raheed, but the smile seemed forced when she turned it to Asan. She reached out and took his hand gently, pulling him forward.

            “Raheed should be wary,” she said with kind eyes. “His servant is more handsome than he is.”

            Asan blushed, but Raheed just laughed and slapped him on the back.

            “Akeem,” Malli said, and a pretty woman emerged from the shadows, draped in red silk with wide gold rings hanging from her ears. She was a slightly less comely version of Malli, but she was more than Asan had ever deserved. His heart began to race with terror, because he really _did not_ want this. His skin crawled with revulsion, not because he thought Akeem ugly or undesirable, but because he couldn’t stand the thought of paying her to touch him. It was wrong, it was sinful, it wasn’t how he imagined it being.

            “Akeem will take good care of you,” Malli said, taking Akeem’s hand and placing it softly in Asan’s. “Don’t worry. She’s very good with less experienced men.”

            “Come,” Akeem said with a smile, pulling Asan forward. “This way.”

            Asan whipped around to face Raheed, but Raheed was grinning with what looked like pride. Asan shook his head, mouthing _no_. Raheed didn’t seem worried, just waved him forward. Asan’s eyes darted to Malli. She looked sad but resolute, giving Asan no more than a slow nod before Asan was pulled around a corner and out of sight.

            Asan tried pulling his hand from Akeem’s, but she held fast. When she finally stopped and faced him, they were standing in a long dark hallway, lit only by a few candles.

            “Look at you,” she said, pushing back a lock of hair. “You look terrified.”

            Asan just shook his head, continuing to mouth _no_. Akeem’s eyebrows lowered over her eyes before she reached back and knocked a finger on the door behind her.

            The door opened. Asan had been expecting perhaps another woman, but it was Samid who filled the doorway. Asan was so shocked that he stopped pulling at Akeem for a second.

            “Hello, Asan,” Samid said with a gentle smile before turning to Akeem. “Thank you, Akeem. I think I can take it from here.”

            Akeem squeezed Asan’s shoulder and kissed his cheek before trotting away. Asan was still trying to process the exchange when Samid crooked a finger. “Inside. Come.”

            Asan considered bolting, but he couldn’t make up his mind. Would he be chased? And if he wasn’t chased, where would he go? He didn’t know how to get out of here. They might not take kindly to servants wandering about the grounds without supervision. Any man without a beard was going to be kicked out without a question, possibly beaten for trespassing.

            Samid pushed the door open wider, standing aside and beckoning him in. “Asan, please. Inside.”

            The conditioned part of his mind urged him to follow an order. So he took a few hesitant steps forward, making sure not to pause by Samid for too long. The room he entered was tiny and rather plain, not exactly what he’d expected at a brothel as luxurious as this one. Even Samid, handsome as he was, wore none of Malli’s finery.

            Samid closed the door behind him, restarting Asan’s flee instinct. There was a window, but it didn’t look like it could be opened. He turned around, clutching the small bag he’d brought with him, which carried a few coins and his drawing supplies. He wasn’t sure if he’d need it or not.

            Samid stood before him, wearing silk trousers and beaded slippers but nothing else. A sash was tied at his waist, the knot riding his left hip. Asan hated himself for feeling any desire at all, considering neither of them were here by choice. Samid seemed very comfortable, his expression patient. Asan kept his eyes on the floor, afraid they might take too much delight in tracing the outline of Samid’s figure. Samid lacked Asan’s muscle tone, but he was taller, appearing more graceful and nearly predatory.

            “Malli informed me that Raheed was looking for someone for his servant,” Samid finally said after a long wait. “Lucky for you, Malli is smarter than he is.”

            Asan took a step back when Samid took a step forward.

            “He’s already paid for this. He never has to know,” Samid continued. “He’ll think you were with Akeem.”

            Asan didn’t know how to proceed, considering Samid did not understand hand gestures. His only other alternative was writing, but only soldiers and clerics knew how to read. Even expensive whores weren’t literate. So Asan just shook his head and took another step back.

            “It’s okay.” Samid looked bemused at Asan’s reaction. “I can’t say I’ve had many servants, but I won’t scoff.”      

            That had nothing to do with Asan’s refusal, but Asan didn’t know how to make it clear.

            “Many men feel ashamed of their desires,” Samid continued, which made Asan flush magenta. Samid took a swaying two steps forward, and now Asan had nowhere to go. He was backed up against a wall. “But there’s no need for that here. Everything is confidential, and I make no judgments.”

            Asan sucked in a breath as Samid touched his chin and lifted his head so that their gazes could meet. It was hard not to dive into those eyes, and Asan couldn’t help but glance at Samid’s mouth, wondering . . .

            Asan stiffened and pushed Samid back. It went against all of his training, as he’d never met anyone else in a station lower than him. He didn’t know exactly where whores sat in the hierarchy, but Samid was just as beardless as Asan, meaning that Asan did not have to bow to his will.

            “What’s wrong?” Samid asked as Asan glared at him. “Am I unsatisfactory?”

            Asan shook his head, then sighed in frustration. He hated not being able to say exactly what he meant.

            “I know you can’t speak, but . . .” Samid pressed his lips together before pushing some hair from his forehead. Asan watched the motion, wanting to touch him but also disgusted at the idea. “I need to know what you _want_.”

            _Not this_ , Asan signed, even if he knew it was useless. _I don’t want to be with a whore at all. This was Raheed’s idea. I don’t want to pay someone to touch me. It is wrong!_

Samid blinked as he watched Asan’s flying hands, looking exasperated as Asan waited for his reaction.

            “Uh . . .” Samid looked away, biting his lip. “Okay, well, I didn’t get any of that.”

            Asan rubbed his face in defeat.

            “Look.” Samid straightened. “Can you just—I just want to do my job. I’m not ashamed of what I do, and you shouldn’t either. If you don’t indulge yourself now, you may never get another chance.”

            Asan knew that. He wasn’t stupid. But he wasn’t going to sacrifice his ideals and beliefs for one night of fun. He knew what it had done to Raheed. Raheed was so often drunk and unhappy. He claimed whores brought him peace, but they only seemed to bring him misery. Asan would not become like him. He would be stronger than Raheed.

            “But if you don’t want to,” Samid continued, “then I won’t try to convince you. I know you are here because Raheed wished it so. I do like you. I think you are a very sweet man who has good intentions. And I would take good care of you, help you learn.”

            A battle between mind and lust fought in his chest, and Asan was stretched between two desires. One was to be the good, moral person that Elder Hassad trusted. The other was the lust he’d been shoving away ever since Raheed brought him to Ayllamal. Perhaps his resistance was rooted in the fact that Samid was not _Raheed_. Asan had indulged a million fantasies, and they’d almost all involved Raheed. He wanted to reserve himself for Raheed and Raheed only, and he knew that if he remained loyal to such an idea, he’d never be with anyone. He wasn’t stupid. He knew Raheed had no interest in men, let alone a male servant. But his heart couldn’t imagine it any other way.

            Samid was not in the plan. Why not Samid? He was handsome, beguiling. There was a sensuality to him that Raheed lacked, and when it came to emotional intellgience, Samid certainly ruled supreme. He knew Asan in ways Raheed couldn’t even imagine, and Samid had only met him three times. But Asan feared that touching Samid would make him imagine Raheed, and when the touch was _real,_ when the body was _real_ , it made it that much harder to forget. It was pain he didn’t want to experience. Yet the thought of suffering forever without so much as loving touch . . that was painful too.

            Asan couldn’t stop himself. He reached out and rested a hand on the center of Samid’s chest, curious to how it would feel. He was shocked to find that Samid had no chest hair, not even the light dusting that Asan had. He must have shaved it off. Asan had no idea why he would do such a thing. He’d certainly fantasized about Raheed’s plenty of times.

            Samid waited, not moving, eyes darting from Asan’s hand to Asan’s eyes. Biting his lip, Asan lifted his other hand placed it beside his other one, wondering where he should go from here.

            Samid finally took one of Asan’s hands and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his palm. Asan had to close his eyes, because seeing it made his chest tighten with such ferocity that he could barely breathe. Was he really that deprived of affection that something so simple could make him gasp?

            Samid’s lips fell to his wrist then, and something dark began to rise up inside of Asan, something that he had chained and tethered to the bottom of his consciousness. It was _wrong_ , _vile_. It was why he locked it up. But suddenly it leapt up from its slimy depths and roared, taking control of Asan for a terrifying few seconds.

            Asan grabbed Samid’s head and pulled him down into a kiss. Even Samid seemed to be caught off guard for a moment, but he quickly recovered. His body pressed tightly against Asan’s, anchoring them to the wall at Asan’s back. Asan wanted to touch more of him, but he couldn’t pull his hands off of Samid’s face, terrified of the kiss’s aftermath. The kiss didn’t satisfy Asan’s beast, so his teeth suddenly took hold of Samid’s lip and tugged. It wasn’t a brutal pull, but it was more than Asan ever believed himself capable of. Samid pushed into the kiss harder, his hands slipping into the narrow gap between their bodies to squeeze Asan’s groin. It was this that snapped him out of it.

            Asan shoved Samid back and wiped a hand across his mouth, fear replacing lust. He’d never lost control of himself like that, not since he was a beggar boy grappling with Raheed. Elder Hassad had warned Asan about his explosive anger, said that it would get a servant in trouble. And Asan learned that lesson at the barracks, where he was beaten for his inability to control his temper. Lust, anger . . . they all bloomed from the same place. Three years had been spent learning to be the perfect servant; Samid would not destroy all of Asan’s hard work.

            Samid stepped forward again, but Asan threw a hand out and blocked him before moving futher into the room. Running his hands over his face, Asan realized his fingers were trembling. Heat radiated from his groin, and he felt himself turn red with embarrassment.

            Asan felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to face Samid, then quickly inspected him for signs of similar arousal. But there was no flush to Samid’s face, no bulge in his trousers. Apparently Asan’s lacivious demons were all his own. Seeing Samid so unaffected made Asan even more disgusted with himself. Of course Samid was unaroused. He was a prostitute. He didn’t _choose_ Asan.

            “It’s okay,” Samid said, but Asan shook his head. “It is. Come here.”

            “No,” Asan blurted, out loud this time. “No more.”

            “Shh.” Samid sank down onto the bed, continuing to gesture toward Asan. “I promise not to touch your cock again. Just sit, please.”

            Asan sat, but at a distance.

            “We could just kiss,” Samid offered. “It wouldn’t have to be anything more than that.”

            Asan shook his head again.

            Samid scooted closer, putting a hand on Asan’s thigh, down toward the knee so that it wasn’t so suggestive. “We can go slow.”

            Asan glanced down at Samid’s groin pointedly. It took Samid a moment to realize before looking down at himself.

            “That doesn’t matter. This is about you.”

            Asan pulled away with a moan of despair.

            “Asan! Look at me!” Samid took Asan’s face in one hand and jerked it around. “You deserve the truth. I’m not _like_ you. I admit that. I’ve never been—” Samid sighed and slouched. “I enjoy women.”

            As if Asan couldn’t feel any worse.

            “It doesn’t matter though.” Samid took a deep breath. “This is my situation, and I’ve dealt with it. I just wanted you to know because it’s not about _you_. Of course it’s not about you.” Samid lifted a hand to cup Asan’s cheek. “You are a kind and handsome young man. If we lived in a fair world, you would be highly sought after. Just because I cannot—well, I can with some stimulation I suppose, maybe some fantasies—oh, Asan. Don’t look at me like that.”

            Asan frowned and continued to glare at him.

            “I’ve been pleasuring men since I was _ni—_ well, it doesn’t matter how long. Just because it isn’t my preference doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy some of the interactions. I rather enjoy kissing, no matter who it is. If he’s sincere, of course. I’m not so fond of the blind groping and slobbering, but . . .” He trailed off and gave Asan a small smile. “I think it would be nice to kiss you.”

            _You’re just saying that_ , Asan said.

            “I don’t understand. Hey.” Samid took Asan’s chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Raheed is paying for this. I think you should get something out of it, at least.”

            Asan thought about it. Maybe a kiss wouldn’t be so bad. Samid could be lying, but he might be telling the truth about enjoying it. And didn’t feel _wrong_ to Asan, which was the most important thing. As long as Samid’s hands stayed in their rightful places, Asan could handle his reaction.

            Finally Asan nodded, and Samid smiled. Placing one hand alongside Asan’s jaw, Samid leaned in and pressed a rather innocent kiss to Asan’s lips. Instead of the previous tide of lust, Asan felt merely a pleasant buzz in the back of his head. For the first time, he noticed that Samid smelled of nutmeg. Asan couldn’t help but smile against his mouth.

            The kiss was sweet and simple for a few minutes, but Asan felt himself inevitably wanting more, and when he probed Samid’s lips with the tip of his tongue, Samid’s mouth opened and let him in. Asan told himself to stop but couldn’t, because it was wonderful and adventurous and he never knew if he’d ever get to kiss anyone like this again. He lifted a hand and slipped it behind Samid’s neck, trapping some of Samid’s hair between his fingers. Samid tilted his head so that he could push at Asan’s mouth with more force, and then Asan felt Samid’s hand creeping up his leg.

            Asan pulled back and put his hands over his lap, hoping Samid didn’t notice the obvious state of his arousal.

            Samid withdrew slowly. “There. Was that so bad?”

            Asan hunched his shoulders around his ears.

            “I could touch you there—”

            Asan swatted his hand away with a glare. Samid nodded in defeat and stood, though he quickly stooped and picked up the bag that Asan had dropped.

            “What is this?” Samid asked, pushing back the flap. Asan jumped to a stand and yanked it from him. When Samid gaped at him in shock, Asan hugged the bag to his chest, feeling childish.

            “What is it?” Samid asked.

            Asan shook his head. But part of him wanted to show Samid, because he knew there was a strong likelihood that he might never see him again. Samid knew more about Asan than anyone else, so why was there any reason to hide from him? Often he felt suffocated by all his lies and omitted truths. Part of him just wanted to show himself, his _true self_ to someone without making them cringe.

            Asan’s hand slipped into the bag and he pulled out his collection of sketches. Samid took it when Asan offered it to him. With one potent look at Asan, Samid pulled back the cover, eyes growing as they rested upon Asan’s many sketches, some of Messenger and camels and Elder Hassad, but most of them of Raheed. Asan felt a great shame about it, but it was also a relief letting someone see it, see _him_.

            Samid began to browse through the pages, his expression rather blank but carrying a certain softness. Upon reaching a full-page charcoal sketch of Raheed in full uniform, he finally lifted his gaze to Asan, eyes touched by sadness.

            “They are beautiful drawings,” Samid said gently.

            “Thank you,” Asan replied, though he was relatively sure it came out garbled, judging by the brief confusion that crossed Samid’s face.

            “He’s more handsome in your drawings,” Samid joked. “And that’s no easy feat.”

            Asan couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. There was no way Asan could ever hope to capture what made Raheed so . . . perfect.

            “You love him, don’t you?”

            A pain clutched Asan’s chest for a moment before being chased away by humiliation. When Asan tried to turn his head, Samid placed a hand on his cheek and kept him facing forward.

            “Raheed is a good, handsome man. There’s no shame in it.”

            Asan wanted to disagree. Perhaps if Raheed had shown a sign, _any_ sign of feeling just an ounce for Asan of what Asan felt for him, but Asan couldn’t even be sure that Raheed _liked_ him beyond the services he offered as a servant. They had been friends, once, maybe. Raheed had changed, and so had Asan. Asan should have grown up and moved on. But a part of Asan clung to that young soldier who fed him scraps of bread, the well-intentioned boy who provided kindness when no other person did. In the most raw, emotional part of him, Raheed would always be that boy, no matter how many whores he frequented or how much drink he imbibed.

            “But I know that is of no comfort to you, is it?” Samid sighed and flipped to another drawing of Raheed. “Not when Raheed hasn’t an idea. And you’ll never tell him, I’m sure.”

            Asan shook his head frantically.

            Samid chuckled, but it held no humor. “You’ll find that life never brings you what you desire most. That is a luxury for rich Mullis and rich Mullis alone. The rest of us . . .” Samid sighed. “I suppose the rest of us must make do.”

            Asan nodded. It was a hard truth he’d been struggling with for quite some time. He wanted to ask Samid what _he_ desired most, because he was curious. He reached over and took Samid’s hand, trying to impart the question with his eyes. Perhaps Asan could truly speak with thoughts, because Samid seemed to understand. He just smiled sadly.

            “It’s of no matter, not really.” But Asan kept his gaze when Samid’s eyes flickered up, and Samid sighed again. “I would say freedom, but that is such a far-fetched dream that I don’t even consider it anymore. I’ve lowered my standards, you see. I think now my deepest desire is that of most men: a woman.”

            Asan didn’t think this was the most honest answer, because Samid’s expression was dense, full of layers that Asan couldn’t fully comprehend. So he waited patiently.

            “Can you keep a secret?” Samid asked.

            Chuckling, Asan nodded. Of course he could keep a secret. It was hard to tell on someone when you lacked speech.

            “Malli.” Samid bit his lip, the first hint of pink touching his cheeks. “She knows it. We’ve known each other too long to lie. But in our profession, intimacy has a price, and it’s not something you’re willing to give away, even to friends. So we hide it and we pretend it’s merely friendship, because that is the only thing we can accept, the only thing that remains _pure_ after all these years. I’ve told so many lies about love, as has she. You say ‘I love you’ to enough people and it loses all meaning. So what do you have left? Nothing. Only actions.” Samid paused, eyes intense. “I’d do anything for her, and she for me. I fear lately she’s done more for me than I’ve done for her.” Samid sighed and sank down onto the mat, running a hand through his hair. Asan joined him, watching Samid’s lips closely so he would not miss a word. When Samid glanced at Asan, he laughed and shook his head. “I should not be telling this to you. Honestly, I’ve never told anyone this, and _that_ is not a lie. I suppose it’s different with you, isn’t it? Who knew my weakness would be a man who cannot speak? I feel obligated to fill the silence.”

            Asan shrugged, because he didn’t mind at all. This was far more interesting and engaging for him than anything that Raheed had paid for. To him, _this_ felt like true intimacy, and it was worth more than anything gold could buy.

            Asan wanted to ask if Samid was jealous, but he wasn’t sure how. So he took his sketchbook back and began to draw figures with the charcoal at the bottom of his bag, sometimes pausing to make expression that helped illustrate. It would have been far easier to write the question, but he assumed Samid could not read, like most people.

            “Jealous?” Samid finally guessed, looking over Asan’s shoulders at his drawing. “Am I jealous?”

            Asan nodded.

            “Of _Raheed_?” Samid asked with a half-smile. “Oh, Asan. If I were jealous of every man who touched Malli, I’d have no time to feel anything else. She has had many, many men, as have I. It means nothing to either of us.”

            Bowing his head, Asan pulled at the hem of his caftan.

            “You are allowed to be jealous of Malli though,” Samid said with a laugh. “In fact, many of the women here are jealous of her. Not because they feel about Raheed either way, but he pays up front, is kind, and makes no threats. Everyone here appreciates a good customer. Even I thought I might offer a lure, to see if he bit.” When Asan’s eyes grew, Samid squeezed his shoulder. “He _didn’t_. Even if he were inclined in that way, he has eyes only for Malli.”

            Samid began to flip through the pages again, pausing at the lines of script that Asan had used for practice. His expression morphed from approval to shock.

            “You write?” he asked.

            Asan nodded.

            “Can you show me?”

            Asan nodded again and took the sketchbook back. He couldn’t write nearly so well with a blunt piece of charcoal, but he did his best. He yearned to show how adept his calligraphy could be, something that even Elder Hassad saw fit for praise.

            “What does it say?” Samid asked curiously over Asan’s shoulder.

            “Samid,” Asan sounded out, stumbling over the sounds because he’d never said them in that order before. He must have been at least vaguely successful, because a light came across Samid’s face that Asan had never seen before.

            “That’s my name?”

            Asan nodded, then held up a finger asking Samid to wait. So Samid watched in awe as Asan began to sketch his face, glancing up occasionally to get a better idea of his features. He wasn’t entirely comfortable observing Samid so intently, but Samid didn’t seem to mind, and considering he’d been willing to do more than let Asan stare at him, Asan cast away his reservations. Within minutes, he had a small sketch of Samid drawn beneath his name. Then he pulled out the page and handed it to Samid.

            “This is for me?”

            Asan nodded.

            Samid took the paper slowly, eyes moving about the drawing as if trying to memorize it. When he finally did lift his gaze, there was a sheen to them of deep appreciation.

            “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

            Asan blushed and signed _you’re welcome_.

            For a moment, Samid said nothing as he continued to stare at the portrait. Finally, he gently placed the drawing at his side and took Asan’s face in both of his hands, leaning in to press a gentle but firm kiss to Asan’s forehead. When he pulled back, there was such a heavy sorrow in his eyes that Asan felt a pang in his chest in sympathy.

            “One day,” Samid said, rubbing his thumbs, along Asan’s cheeks, “someone will love you more than the very air they breathe. That is the person you deserve, and you will never settle for less than that.”

            Asan reached out to touch him, but Samid jerked away, spinning around to face the door. Seconds later, it creaked open, admitting Akeem.

            “Time’s up,” she said, looking between Samid and Asan with some supsicion. She might be wondering why they were both clothed.

            Samid nodded and helped Asan to a stand. Akeem ushered Asan forward, but he cast one last glance at Samid, who blew him a flirty kiss and winked, all of the previous grief erased from his features as if it had never touched them at all. Asan wanted to tell him more, at least say _thank you_ one last time, but Akeem was pulling him away, and Asan only caught a brief glimpse of honey skin and dark eyes before turning a corner. Strange how moments ago he’d felt closer to Samid than he’d felt to anyone in his life, and now all of that was replaced with an aching loneliness, more acute than anything he’d ever felt, even when Raheed vanished from Khafa.

            Akeem led him down several dark hallways and then up a stairwell to another veranda overlooking a vast, luscious courtyard. Asan was so focused on the greenery below that he nearly ran into Akeem when she stopped. She reached over and tapped the door.

            “Time’s up!” she said, glancing briefly at Asan before she opened the door. She must have received a reply from within.

            Asan couldn’t help but slip a glance past her and into the room. It was much larger than Samid’s, with tapestries on the wall and elaborate embroidered rugs that covered nearly the whole cold tile floor. It was lit with a few gold lamps, and in the center of the room stood a half-dressed Malli, a robe pulled over her naked body but not tied, leaving her abdomen and groin exposed. Asan quickly looked away, but when she tied the robe shut, he chanced another glance, curiosity winning over propriety.

            Raheed stepped into view, slipping on his trousers and boots. He had not yet replaced his caftan, so Asan couldn’t help but watch the muscles in his back twist and strain as he moved. Trying to be subtle about his gaze, Asan dropped his chin and pretended to be watching the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Raheed cross the room, slip an arm around Malli’s waist, and kiss her hard. She lifted both hands to run through his hair, her back making an elegant curve as she pressed herself against him. They were beautiful together, like a princess and a knight from the children’s tales Asan had read about. Their embrace held such desire that Asan felt a stirring of his own, only because he couldn’t turn away from Raheed. He’d never seen Raheed so _passionate_ , as he was usually drunk or platonic. Asan couldn’t help but watch as Raheed’s hands traveled down her back, along her waist, settling briefly across the top of her rump. It was the sort of touch Asan yearned for, and he’d never been so jealous of someone in his life. He held no ill will for Malli, but he still wanted to be her, to suffocate in Raheed’s lust and be the object of his desire.

            Finally the kiss ended and Akeem waved her hands at Raheed, urging him to hurry up. He threw an enamored smile at Malli before pulling on his caftan and securing his weapons around his waist. He gave her one more kiss, this one just a brief peck on the lips before he crossed the room and said something to Akeem. Akeem shrugged and gestured toward the door, when Raheed finally noticed Asan standing there. He grinned, and Asan felt like the smallest speck of sand in the desert.

            “Congratulations,” Raheed said affably as he put an arm around Asan’s shoulders and guided him down the veranda, “you are at last a man!”

            Asan’s smile hurt his face, and when Raheed looked away, Asan’s mouth returned to his usual doleful expression. Of course he’d never tell Raheed what had _truly_ happened, because Raheed would never understand. Best to pretend. Asan was learning that honesty, extoled by God and His clerics, was not always the best option.


	25. Sad Stories

 

            Raheed began to see Malli as often as he could manage, forgoing any unnecessary purchases so that he could afford her fee. He knew it was foolish, and he knew that General Mamid had already warned him about feeling too strongly for any woman who charged him, but his head and his heart were running in opposite directions, and his heart dragged him by a chain around his neck. When he wasn’t with her, he thought about her, fantasized about her, yearned to hear her voice. He began to realize that it was about more than her beauty and her talent as a lovemaker. She said very little about her life, which Raheed found frustrating. He wanted to _know_ her, know her beyond what her body could tell him.

            Raheed couldn’t help but let his thoughts linger once more as he took breakfast with Elder Hassad. Elder Hassad’s face was pale and his eyes bloodshot, but he spoke with the same authority as always, snapping at Raheed when he dropped food in his lap and used God’s name in vain. Raheed convinced himself that Elder Hassad had never looked particularly healthy. With Asan watching over him, surely he’d be just fine.

            Asan entered the room and dropped to his knees to pour more tea in Raheed’s cup. Despite Raheed’s efforts, Asan seemed more distant than ever, often retreating to his room when he wasn’t doing chores. Raheed felt as if they were becoming too different to have anything in common anymore, and he wasn’t sure if he should even try to remedy that. Maybe it was best that a servant remain a servant and a soldier remain a soldier.

            _You’re wearing the pin_ , Raheed said, tugging on Asan’s sleeve.

            Asan looked down at the Hahnar pin attached to his caftan. He gave Raheed a cool smile and nodded. _From the Matij tribe_.

            Raheed gaped at him, shocked. _What did you say_?

            Asan spelled out _Matij_ just as he had the first time.

            _How do you know about the Matij_? Raheed asked.

            Asan looked over at Elder Hassad, who was watching the conversation intently. Elder Hassad then nodded and motioned for Asan to continue.

            _A book_ , Asan replied, head bowed.

            “A book?” Raheed turned to Elder Hassad. “Is it the same book I—”

            “Asan often gets into things that should be left alone.” Elder Hassad lifted his cup to his lips to sip his tea. “It’s not appropriate reading for a servant.”

            Asan nodded humbly, moving to stand. Raheed caught his arm before he could.

            _How much did you read_? Raheed asked.

            _Some._ Asan’s eyes darted briefly to Elder Hassad.

            “Hmm.” Raheed sighed and released Asan’s sleeve. “I don’t recall reading anything about what scorpion belonged to which tribe. Only General Mamid told me that.”

            “Asan,” Elder Hassad said, clearing his throat. “Are you going to refill my tea or do I have to wait for it to get cold?”

            Asan quickly bowed his head and stood, rushing around the table and bending to refill Elder Hassad’s tea. Then he returned to the kitchen, where Raheed could hear a clatter of dishes.

            “That servant has no idea how loud he can be sometimes,” Elder Hassad muttered. “Especially when one is trying to get some sleep.”

            “Why did you keep the book about the Hahnars? Didn’t I get that from the library and never return it?”

            “I recall finding it after you had already left. I suppose I forgot to take it back. It’s probably a good thing, considering it’s not good reading for young soldiers.”

            “Of course it is. My knowledge of Hahnars kept me alive.”

            “Not so many are as resourceful as you. I don’t think exposure to heathen cultures is beneficial to most soldiers., let alone servants. I considered telling Asan to return that pin, as I don’t appreciate him wearing it in proper Mulli society.”

            “There’s no harm in it. Most people don’t even know what it means.”

            “Someone might. I’d prefer Asan remain as inconspicuous as possible. I don’t want him to get another lashing for a mild transgression like last time.”

            “What mild transgression?”  
            Elder Hassad paused briefly before taking another sip from his tea. “Asan didn’t tell you about that?”

            “About what?”

            “He picked a fight with some soldier boys two or so years back. The lovely lieutenant general Yussam was the one to break it up. He wanted Asan imprisoned. Luckily I was able to save him from that fate, but I couldn’t save him from a thorough lashing.”

            Raheed frowned. “What do you mean, _picked a fight_?”

            “Some boys harassed him, he retaliated.” Elder Hassad paused and lifted his gaze to Raheed’s. “I have faith in Asan’s nature. He has a temper, but he is not cruel. Perhaps it is wrong of me to believe a servant’s word over a soldier’s, but I trust Asan more than I trust most men, even ones I’ve known for decades. At least he succeeded in irritating Yussam, which I always support.”

            Raheed couldn’t help but snort. “Elder Hassad, you are a godly man.”

            “I have my flaws. I don’t think God will condemn me if I hate one insufferable man.”

            Lieutenant General Yussam’s reaction to Asan at the caliph’s party made more sense now. Raheed couldn’t help but pity Asan, who despite all his tantrums and arguments, had never proven himself to be mean-spirited. Raheed knew soldiers more than anyone, and he knew that the young ones were especially smug. They came from the same places as servants and yet they were awarded high status and a coveted education. It would make any boy arrogant.

 

* * *

 

            Asan knocked on Elder Hassad’s bedroom door before entering. Elder Hassad was awake but reclined on his pillows, holding his scrolls at arm’s length so that his poor vision could read them.

            Asan put the tea at Elder Hassad’s side and proceeded to pour him a cup. Elder Hassad ignored him for the most part, only looking up when Asan held up a cup for him to take.

            “I don’t want that awful stuff,” Elder Hassad grumbled.

            Asan only held it out further, ushering Elder Hassad to drink it. A woman at the market had been passionate about its soothing properities, and Elder Hassad was certainly more relaxed afterward. Finally Elder Hassad reached out and took it, but not without frowning in displeasure.

            When Asan began to pick up the tray, Elder Hassad stopped him. “Where are you going?”

            _Do you want me to stay_?

            “Sit down. Read this to me.” He held out the scroll.

            Asan took it and began to make his usual gestures. But Elder Hassad shook his head and took Asan’s sleeve between gnarled fingers.

            “No. _Speak it_.”

            Asan stared at him for a moment. _I can’t_.

            “You can say some things. Try it.”

            Asan’s eyes flickered to the writing. There were some words he didn’t even know the meaning of. There was no way he could even attempt such a task. But he knew Elder Hassad would never let him go without making an effort, so Asan focused on the first word and began to move his lips around it in same way Elder Hassad or Raheed might have.

            “ _There is no one but God in all things that have been created_ ,” Elder Hassad said. “The first word is easy. Say it with me.”

            _I cannot_ , Asan insisted.

            “You can. You’re not stupid. You say some things just fine. Why, you say Raheed’s name perfectly.”

            Asan looked back down at the scroll but continued to shake his head.

            “Don’t play dumb with me, boy. Say it!”

            Asan forced out the first word, but judging by Elder Hassad’s expression, it was not even close.

            “Say the words you know. The easy ones. God. You can say that, can’t you?”

            Asan could, so he did. Elder Hassad nodded his approval.

            “Yes. Now another word. Find something that looks possible.”

            It took about an hour for Asan to say the entire sentence in a way that fit Elder Hassad’s standards. Asan prepared to go, but he stopped at the doorway. Slowly he turned back around.

            “What is it?” Elder Hassad asked.

            _I have a question about dreams_.

            “Dreams?”

            Asan nodded. _Do dreams mean anything_?

            “Sometimes.”

            _I read that the prophets had dreams in which God spoke to them_.

            “Yes. It is a popular medium that God speaks through. Why? Has God spoken to you?”

            _No, I don’t think so_. Asan bit his lip, but decided to continue. _Can dreams tell the future_?

            Elder Hassad stared at him a moment, then gestured him forward. Asan returned to his bedside, kneeling at Elder Hassad’s shoulder.

            “Tell me about this dream.”

            So Asan did. He mentioned the flat desert, the wall with the engravings, and the pin in the sand. The fact that the dream featured Hahnars did not thrill Elder Hassad, but he listened until Asan had finished.

            “What makes this dream different from any other?” Elder Hassad asked.

            _Because . . ._ Asan paused, realizing that he couldn’t tell the truth without getting in trouble for reading further. But all Elder Hassad could do was yell at him, and Asan was used to that. So he decided getting Elder Hassad’s opinon was more important than hiding disobedience. _I read more of the book. After you told me not to. I’m sorry, Elder Hassad, but I was curious. I needed to know._

            “Asan—”

            Asan reached underneath the hem of his caftan and pulled out the drawing he’d made of the scorpion pin and its sheaths of wheat. _This was in my dream. But it was also in the book, a part I read_ after _I had the dream. That’s why I think this may be no ordinary dream. How could I have possibly known about this insignia before seeing it in the book?_

Elder Hassad took the drawing slowly, eyes roaming it for a long moment before finally handing it back to Asan.

            “That is alarming indeed. It is also very mysterious. I don’t know what God could possibly have to say about the Hahnars. Perhaps he is warning you to stay away.”

            Asan nodded, but he felt as if Elder Hassad were very far from the truth. The dream had not felt intimidating at all. In fact, he recalled feeling entirely at peace, even though he was in the middle of an empty desert and the walls loomed over him. It had been as if the carvings had given him the pin as a gift.

            “I think you should stay away from anything regarding the Hahnars,” Elder Hassad warned. “They are not civilized like us, and if they were to find you they would most likely enslave you. They kill Mulli soldiers and take their servants as their own. You know what what would mean for Raheed as well as you.”

            Asan nodded, swallowing the flicker of hope that the dream had spurred. He would rather remain chaste for the rest of his life than become an owned object for strange savages from another land. It had only been their _jusefs_ that had intrigued him.

            “Perhaps this is why you should not read such books. They give you bad dreams.”

            Elder Hassad made it sound like Asan was some terrified child. He clasped his hands to keep from protesting and simply nodded his head.

            “I now think it is time for me to sleep. You may bring my dinner to me, as I don’t think I have the strength to leave my bed today. I don’t imagine Raheed will be present; he told me he would be at the barracks all night.”

            Asan wanted to roll his eyes, because of course Raheed wouldn’t be at the barracks. He’d mostly likely be out drinking. That was usually the reason for his absence.

             

* * *

 

            “I’m sorry, but Malli is not able to take customers today.”

            Raheed frowned at Akeem, who had taken him aside when she noticed his route to Malli’s bedchamber. “Why not?”

            “She is not feeling well.”

            “Does she need more milk of poppy?”

            Akeem shook her head. “There will be enough of it to last her at least a few more months.”

            “That is good. I don’t want her in pain.” The thought of it in fact made Raheed a bit ill. He wished there was more he could do.

            “This comes about every month for her. It didn’t used to be so bad but . . .” Akeem trailed off and bowed her head, saying no more.

            “Can I speak to her?”

            “No, I don’t think that would be right.”

            “I just want to make sure that she is comfortable and doing well. I’m worried about her.”

            “There is no need for that. We are all doing what we can to put her at ease.”

            Raheed opened his mouth to argue further, but Samid emerged from the darkness and put a hand on Akeem’s shoulder.

            “She is asking to see him,” Samid said. “Let him go.”

            “But—” Akeem turned an indignant gaze to Raheed before crossing her arms and sighing. “Very well. But don’t upset her and don’t even _consider_ touching her.”

            Raheed was insulted by her insinuation. “No need to worry. I shall try to keep my raging lustful beast on a leash.”

            Samid chuckled as he turned and gestured to Malli’s room, only several strides away. She must have heard him and Akeem arguing out in the hall.

            Raheed pushed open the door and looked inside. He’d never entered without Malli at his side, so it was odd to encroach upon her territory without her with him. He saw her lying on her bed underneath several blankets, her head perched on a nest of pillows. He was shocked to find her face completely free of make-up, something he had never seen before. She looked so much younger now, yet weary too. There were dark shadows under her eyes and a thin sheen of sweat along her forehead. Raheed’s stomach clenched at the sight, and he wanted nothing more than to pick her up and carry her to a place where there was no pain.

            “This is very unprofessional,” she said in a raspy voice, pulling herself upright by her elbows. She winced and let out a low hiss, which made Raheed cross the room in several strides and kneel at her side.

            “Don’t,” he insisted, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Lay back down.”

            “I let you in thinking you might not mother me like the rest.” Her head fell back to her pillows with a sigh. “I must have been wrong.”

            “As someone who barely remembers his mother, I can think of worst things than being mothered.”

            She gave him a tense smile before wincing and then fisting her sheets. Her whole body went taut for a moment, and Raheed could only sit by helplessly and watch. Finally her body relaxed and she sank deeper into the bed.

            “Akeem said this pain comes monthly?”

            Malli opened her eyes and looked up at him. “Yes.”  
            “That’s odd.”

            She stared at him a second, then laughed, even if the laughter was meek. “Oh Raheed! I should expect such ignorance from someone who spends all his time around men.”

            “What?”

            “Shall I explain to you the grisly details?” When Raheed just watched her cluelessly, she closed her eyes with a smile. “Every month when a woman is not with child, she expels blood from her womb. Often this is a very painful process. Usually not _this_ painful, but I am special in that regard.”

            Raheed gaped at her a second, unable to keep a look of mild disgust crossing his face. “ _Blood_? You bleed from your . . . oh. _Why_?”

            “A curse from God, I suppose. A present to women of the world to let us know how much He treasures our existence.”

            Raheed heard a chuckle from the doorway. He looked up and found Samid standing in the threshold, leaning against the doorway.

            “Samid, don’t,” Malli chided playfully.

            “Your disdain and ignorance for such a process amuses me, Raheed.”

            “I believe I was speaking to Malli _privately_.”

            Samid rolled his eyes and unfolded his arms. “I have to make sure you don’t try anything.”

            “Do you want me to punch you?” Raheed snapped. “As if I would _ever_ —in this state? Do you think I am _evil_?”

            “Rules are rules.”

            “Samid.” Raheed watched Samid’s face soften as Malli addressed him in a soft voice. “He will be fine. Please close the door and leave us be.”

            “But—!”

            “It’s _fine_ , love.” She shared a rather pregnant look with Samid before Samid sighed and closed the door, giving them privacy at last.

            “You’ll have to forgive him. He is very protective of me.”

            “He needn’t feel that way. I think you are quite adept at protecting yourself.”

            Malli chuckled, reaching out to take Raheed’s hand and squeeze it. “You flatter me. But whores are nothing without one another, and Samid and I have always been closest.”

            Raheed felt a stab of jealousy but quickly chased it away. “Why is that? I heard you pay for his fees.”

            “Some of them.” Malli looked uncomfortable about the topic but the milk of poppy seemed to loosen her tongue. “He does all that he can. I owe him my life.”

            Raheed’s curiosity was piqued. “How so?”

            She chuckled as she closed her eyes. “Oh, Raheed, you don’t want to hear the story.”

            Raheed was quiet a moment before saying, “A whore once told me that you don’t ask for a whore’s story unless you’re prepared to hear a sad one.”

            Malli’s eyes crept open and met his. “She was a wise whore then.”

            “We all have sad stories. I was sold to the army as a child and asked to kill people.” He shrugged.

            “Not quite as sad as Samid’s, but I’ll give you some credit, being as you’re an orphan.”

            Raheed had never heard “orphan” applied to him before. He’d never felt like one, considering his fellow soldiers had been his brothers and his officers his fathers.

            “What of Samid then? And what of you? How does one come to be a whore?”

            “Oh, some wander in on their own, afraid of arranged marriages and controlling families. You give a woman two options and she’ll pick the one that is least painful. Give her no options and she’ll pick whoring.” Malli smiled sadly, then grew sober as her gaze rested on the wall across the room. “Did you know I am Mulli-by-blood?”

            Raheed had to hide his surprise. “How is that possible?”

            “I had a comfortable young life, betrothed to my cousin, Khameel.”

            “His name was _Camel_?”

            Malli laughed, then winced and tried to hide it. “Kha _meel_ , Raheed.” She patted his hand. “Don’t make me laugh. Laughter hurts.”

            “You said I was charming, that you wanted me to make you laugh.”

            “Not when my insides are trying to eat one another.” She sighed and leaned deeper into her pillow. Raheed couldn’t help but brush a few sweaty strands of hair from her face.

            “Anyway, I was fifteen and three days away from my wedding. Khameel and several of his friends, also my cousins, arrived at my house for a dinner party. I was to stay upstairs with the women like a good girl, but late at night my cousin Aalim climbed through my window and helped himself to my bed. He threatened to kill me if I didn’t comply.”

            Raheed was beginning to realize why Malli hadn’t wanted him to hear this. But he had asked for it, so he let her continue, even if he wanted to find this Aalim and slit his throat.

            “The next day he told Khameel that I had seduced him and that I was no longer a virgin. Well, the latter was true. And when an unspoiled womb is the only thing of value to a man, he sees no reason to purchase one that has been claimed. So he told my parents and they threw me out onto the street. As a rather spoiled young woman, I hadn’t an idea of how to feed myself. I hadn’t even _dressed_ myself before then. So I wandered, and I starved. Samid found me trying to steal bread. He was two years younger but very wily. He purchased the bread so that I would not be beaten and then fed me bread and dates for several weeks. I asked him where he made this money. So he told me, and I asked if I could make money too. I was a foolish girl, envious of the gold embroidery on his shoes and caftan. He warned me, but I insisted, thinking that if Aalim had taken it for free that a man paying might help stave the indignity of it.”

            There was a long silence as Raheed processed this. Then he said: “You’re right. That is a sad story.”

            Malli smiled slowly, then patted his hand. “Mine is not so bad. I had some choice in the matter. Samid had none. He was sold to pay debts at the age of nine and has been a whore ever since.”

            Raheed wasn’t sure what part of that sentence was _most_ horrifying, so he started on the part he considered factually impossible.

            “There are no slaves in Mulli.”

            “Aren’t there?” She ran a hand along her abdomen with a frown. “Maybe not in the sunlight. But look close into dark corners and you’ll find it.”

            “He was nine? Why . . .?” Raheed decided he didn’t want to know, but Malli continued anyway.

            “A nine-year-old boy is cheaper than a nine-year-old girl, and if you dress him up enough, you can’t tell the difference for the most part.” At this, she raised solemn eyes to Raheed’s. “Once his voice deepened and hair sprouted on his chest, all of his regular customers left him. Which is why I pay his debts now, because I can and I know what would become of him if I didn’t. He would be tossed onto the streets and then what would he do? Brothels don’t want male whores. They don’t make money. They satisfy the odd customer here or there, but they must be kept in secret. It’s a liability. He has no family name, no money, no skills. A male whore is a heathen, an insult to God. No one would take him in.” Malli paused, then shook her head. “I shouldn’t tell you such things. Sad stories do not make customers happy.”

            “I’m not scared of sad stories,” Raheed replied. “I’ve seen starving children chopped down where they stand because they stood in the way.”

            “Better chopped down than sold,” Malli whispered.

            Raheed stood and looked through the window screen at the dark city around them. He could hear the distant cry of seagulls, could taste the salt of the nearby water. Despite all its elegance, this brothel could very well be a prison.

            “I suppose you see me differently now,” Malli finally said.

            “Not really.” Raheed turned back to her but stayed by the window. “I always thought you a strong, capable woman.”

            Malli snorted. “If I were so strong, I’d jump that fence and never come back. But I’m a coward, so I stay.” Her head rolled back until she was facing Raheed. “What would happen to you if you ran?”  
            “From the military?”

            “Yes.”

            Raheed reached up and ran his fingers along the small, pale brand on the back of his neck. So many _bhanak_ wore the mark with pride. Raheed had begun to resent it lately, but maybe he was just restless. He was used to the battle field and hated being cooped up here, waiting for something to happen.

            “What do you think they’d do?” Raheed asked.

            Malli stared at him a moment, then nodded. “Same for me.”

            Raheed finally returned to her side, bending so close that his knees touched the mat on which she slept. “If you ran, I’d come with you.”

            She gaped at him as if he’d offered to sacrifice a child in her honor. He didn’t think it was such a preposterous thing to say. She must know how he cared for her, and sometimes he entertained fantasies of marrying her. It didn’t matter to him that she’d seen countless men before him, nor that she was a Mulli-by-blood. He longed to get her away from this place, especially Mahir and his iron-fisted rule. They’d have to cross the sea; it would be harder for them to be followed that way. Raheed knew the Mulli empire spanned across the sea, but surely if they kept heading east, they’d eventually reach a place free from Mulli rule. Maybe they could buy some sheep. It sounded a bit ridiculous in his head, but it also sounded like what he’d always dreamed for himself.

            “Raheed,” she gasped in disbelief. “You can’t seriously think—”

            “It wouldn’t be easy, but it wouldn’t be impossible either. I have enough money to at least pay for taxi across the sea. It wouldn’t be a plesant journey, but I don’t think the military cares enough to follow me all the way there, and I doubt your Master Mahir cares enough either.”

            “I doubt it but . . . what would you _do_? Your money won’t last forever.”

            “We could work. Peasants do it, don’t they?”

            Malli frowned. “Raheed, I have never worked at anything in my life. Who will hire a woman with no skills? Or a man with no skills, for that matter?”

            “I have skills. I can—”

            “You fight, yes. Outside of that, what can you do?”

            Raheed frowned. “I’m sure we could find something.”

            Malli sighed and closed her eyes. “You are not convincing me. Besides—” She bit her lip as another jolt of pain contorted her face. “Besides, I’m not going anywhere without Samid.”

            “Samid?” Raheed looked toward the closed door, wondering if Samid was eavesdropping. It would be like him. “Why?”

            Malli opened her eyes to glare at him. “I told you the whole story and you dare ask me _why?_ ”

            Raheed threw up his hands in defeat. “Fine. Samid would come too. But he’d be a liability.”

            “We are _all_ liabilities. I believe Samid and I would be fine if you could get us across the sea, where we cannot be chased. We know how to work.”

            Raheed shook his head. “No. Once you are free, you no longer have to work like this.”

            “Why not? We know how to do it. It _pays_. The men across the sea are no better or worse than the ones here. What difference does it make to you?”

            Raheed opened his mouth but couldn’t say anything, because he knew the truth would make her angry. Even in his silence, she read his thoughts, and she frowned.

            “Malli—” Raheed attempted to say.

            “You want me to yourself.”

            “I never said that!”

            “Why else would you attempt to smuggle me away from here? Out of the goodness of your heart?”

            “ _Yes_. God, Malli.” Raheed pulled off his turban and ran a hand through his damp hair. “If you never touched me again, I would do it. For you. Because I—I care very deeply for you, beyond the services your provide. We haven’t had much time to chat, but in you I’ve found a good friend, and the only time I feel like I am home is when I’m _here_.”

            “You know nothing about me.”

            “Only because our time is limited to an hour—”

            Malli held up a hand and Raheed cut himself off. He had truly ruined this, and the more he talked the more he felt like a fool. Was he really going to tell her that he loved her? How many men told her that, and how many had been in his exact same position?

            “Raheed.” Her voice was gentle, and her gaze was soft. She reached out and took his hand. “I like you very much.”        

            “You do?”

            “Yes. You are a good customer.”

            Raheed wilted at ‘customer’, but he refused to let her see that. That was, after all, all he was.

            “From what I’ve seen of you, you are a good and kind-hearted man who wishes to do well by those he cares for. So despite my better judgment, I believe you when you say that you require nothing from me.”

            Raheed smiled. “Because it’s true, Malli.”

            Malli nodded and patted his hand. “Give me two months to prepare myself and get my affairs in order. By the first night of the Moon Festival, I will be ready to run with you, if you can promise that no one will find us.”

            Raheed’s head was reeling, shocked by her sudden agreement. His heart began to pump loudly in his ears, and excitement made his skin prickle. He grasped both of her hands and brought them to his mouth, kissing her knuckles fiercely.

            “I swear that no harm will come to you or Samid,” he said. “I will promise that on my life.”

            She reached up and stroked his jaw, and he leaned into the contact. He was quite certain he’d never felt so happy in his life. Not only was he finding a reason to leave the military and its misery behind, but he was leaving it with the woman of his dreams. He did stand by what he said; if she rejected him and wanted no part, he would leave her be. But certainly he could convince her of his worthiness before then. If she would have him, there was nothing more he wanted than her as his wife.

            “I will protect you at all costs,” Raheed said. “I swear on my blade and my heart.”

            Malli nodded and leaned in to kiss him. When she pulled back, her eyes were full of emotion, though the emotion was hard to name. Raheed wanted to kiss her until he had no breath left, but he merely squeezed her hands again and released her.

            “Save up your money,” Malli murmured. “On the first night of the Moon Festival, I will meet you in the city square at dusk, by the statue of the Prophet Tree. I will wear blue, as will Samid. In the sea of women wearing white, you will find us.”

            Raheed nodded. “I will be riding my horse, Ahmbra. She is a fine-legged chesnut, hard to miss.”

            Malli nodded in return, and the deal was done.

            In two months, they were leaving Mulli forever.

 

* * *

 

            Asan woke in relative darkness, his room lit only by the moon beams filtering through the window screen. He saw movement in the shadows and reached for the pen at his bedside, then stopped when he recognized the boots that stood between the border of light and darkness.

            _Raheed_?

            Raheed stepped closer, his face finally lit my moonlight. Asan immediately grabbed his blankets and held them closer, as there was a ominous cast to Raheed’s features, subtle but enough to make Asan’s hair stand on end. Raheed was not right. This was not him. Asan had to be dreaming.

            Asan slowly stood, keeping Raheed’s gaze as he did so. Raheed was wearing his armor, and Asan noticed that his hands were stained with blood, one gripping the hilt of his scimitar and the other clutching a heavy pouch of what was probably coins.

            _What are you doing_? Asan asked as he scooted closer to the window sill. He was hoping that perhaps he could make his way around Raheed and grab the door. Raheed seemed taller and broader than Asan remembered, and the thought of having to fight him made Asan’s throat clench in fear. _Raheed_?  
            Raheed turned the pouch upside down, and hundreds of gold _immas_ cascaded to the floor, rolling and dancing to every corner, filling the room with specks of reflected gold light. Asan gaped at the coins even as they fell still, heart pumping in his temple. When he lifted his gaze to Raheed’s, he found a very dark purpose.

            Raheed crossed the room in two powerful strides and grabbed Asan’s thin white shift, slamming him against the wall. Asan pushed back, but Raheed batted him away as if he were a fly.

            _Please don’t_ , Asan begged as Raheed’s intent became clear, but Raheed did not heed him and used a dagger kept at his belt to slit Asan’s shift from neck to knee. Then Asan was naked and cold, feeling like a helpless mouse caught beneath the gaze of a falcon.

            _I am not your whore_ , Asan said.

            Raheed leaned in so close that Asan could feel his breath on his lips: _You will be_.

            Then Raheed was kissing him, but it was a forceful, dominating kiss, the kind to establish rank, not to express any type of affection. Asan was consumed with both terror and lust, a combination that rendered him entirely powerless. He lifted a hand to push Raheed back, but Raheed grabbed it and twisted it around, immoblizing him.

            _Stop_ , Asan pleaded as Raheed began to undo his trousers, keeping Asan pinned with his weight. He felt slimy, cold blood leaking down the wrist that Raheed held, making his stomach curdle. _Raheed, please don’t_.

            “Isn’t this what you want? Don’t you want to be with me?”

            _No, not like this_ , Asan replied, tears pricking the corners of his eyes. _Please_.

            Raheed ignored him and instead used Asan’s twisted arm to bring Asan to his knees, wrapping his finger’s through Asan’s hair and using the grip to tilt his head back.          

            “Go on then,” Raheed hissed. “Be a good whore now.”

            “NO!” Asan shouted, just as he sat up in bed. He whipped around, grabbing the damp, tangled blankets about his legs before realizing that it had been a dream. A horrible nightmare. And yet . . .

            Asan’s hand crept down his stomach and stopped at the rigid flesh between his legs. With a cry of frustration and self-hatred, Asan threw a pillow across the room and dug his face into his hands. Asan was a slave, tethered by undying devotion to a master who cared not a whit about him. Even worse, the torture never seemed to deter the animal within him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFwI0pfLx78) is a good soundtrack to listen to while reading this story. 
> 
> Second of all, I have my "[Characters In Real Life](http://wandarox.tumblr.com/tagged/characters-irl)" pics on my Tumblr. Check out what they all look like in my head, aha. 
> 
> Third of all, lol at Raheed. PERIODS, YO. THEY HAPPEN.


	26. The Lone Servant

          

            “Raheed, I want to speak with you.”

            Raheed moved closer to General Mamid, who stood in the shade of the veranda, watching several troops train in the blazing sun.

            “Yes, sir?”

            “I’ve spoken with men who have just arrived from the south. We need our best strategists and officers down on the Hahnar front.”

            Raheed began to feel ill as he asked. “Does this concern me, sir?”

            “Yes. I’m sending you.”

            “Sir, I must protest. The Hahnars—”

            “—are one of the few lasting people who stand against us. I know that you prefer the northern front, but the northern front is not a problem. We need our best men fighting down south, and I thought you an adequate man for the job. You’ve seen them, know what they’re capable of. I’m not going to be sending fresh officers into a battle zone they are not equipped to handle.”

            “But—”

            “I am not arguing with you, Raheed. I am going to give you a troop and you are going to spend a few months training them. And then they will be at your disposal as you march for Hahnar territory. Do you understand?”

            _A few months_ , Raheed thought. That gave him time to escape. He had to force his jaw around the words, “Yes, sir,” because there was nothing he wanted less than another confrontation with the Hahnars. He was sure they’d manage to kill him this time.

 

* * *

 

            There was a new girl who delivered milk every morning, replacing the old woman but not the usual donkey cart. She was a few years younger than Asan, slightly malnourished and shyer than a mouse. Today was the first day that she neglected to wear her dark veil, so Asan could finally see what she looked like. She was rather plain, with a large mole just right of her eye and a slight overbite.

            “Hello,” she greeted timidly, her face a rather vibrant shade of red as she looked up at Asan. She was barefoot, and judging by the soot on her cheeks, she hadn’t bathed in quite some time.

            Asan nodded his greeting and pulled out the usual half- _imma_ he paid for milk delivery. When he looked more closely at her, she turned away and pulled the veil covering her hair to cover her face as well. Asan was rather certain by now that she liked him in the same way that he had liked Samid. It was both flattering and alarming, and Asan didn’t know what to say to her. He thought Samid’s attention had been purely financial, so he didn’t know what to do with genuine affection.

            As he had abandoned a short drawing session to get the milk, he held up a finger, asking her to wait. He ran into the house and then returned with a few pages of animals that he’d drawn. One was a donkey, the same one that rolled by his gate every day. When he handed the drawing to her, she stared at it blankly for a good ten seconds before cautiously taking it.

            _Your donkey_ , Asan said, pointing at her skinny donkey, whose bottom lip had dropped in his exhaustion. He was putting his weight on only three feet, practically asleep.

            The girl turned to look at the donkey and then back at Asan.

            “You drew this?” she asked.

            Asan nodded.

            A bright smile flashed across her face. “You are very good!”

            _Thank you_ , Asan replied with a bow.

            “Can you teach me how to draw like this?”

            Asan paused, hesitant.  
            “I could spare ten minutes once every week or so.” She bowed her head, digging her foot into the dirt. “I don’t think my father would notice.”

            Asan was rather positive that Elder Hassad would not like the idea, but Elder Hassad spent most days in his bed now, and Asan had more freedom than ever. Not that Asan was able to value it, since a sick Elder Hassad meant a more uncertain future.

            “I could learn to draw you.”

            Asan chuckled and shook his head, pointing at her. _How about you_?

            The girl’s smile faded, and she shook her head. “Not me. I’m ugly. But you are very hands—” Her eyes widened, and she hugged herself. “Nevermind. I shouldn’t—it’s not appropriate. Perhaps I should go.”

            Asan took her arm as she turned and pointed to his sketches. Then he nodded, saying, _I will teach you_.

            She looked ecstatic, and Asan decided he didn’t care if she liked him in a way he could not return. From the looks of her, she needed someone to make her happy. Asan remembered hunger and misery quite well, and he’d do anything for someone in a similar predicament. It only took one kind person to turn a life around. Asan knew that well.

 

* * *

 

            Raheed had been in an unusually good mood the past few days, even though the only thing that usually put him in such a mood was brothel visits. Since he was saving up his funds, there was none of that, but instead it was the promise of a lifetime as a free man and, if he was lucky, a beautiful and charming wife.

            Raheed slipped off his horse and knocked on the gate, which was immediately answered by Messenger’s bark. Raheed expected to wait for Messenger to retrieve Asan, but the gate was opened almost immediately. He stepped back to allow Raheed passage.

            Raheed stopped just inside the yard and turned to a girl crouched by a resting Nutmeg, her hands clutching a piece of paper and a stick of charcoal. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, and she quickly lifted her veil to cover her face, shying away from him as if he’d raised a hand.

            “Might not have bought you a whore if I knew you were keeping them around,” Raheed joked, but the girl wailed and leapt to her feet, darting past Asan and out the gate before Asan could stop her.

            Asan glared at him.

            “What?” Raheed asked. “Who was she?”

            Asan slammed the gate shut and strode past Raheed in a huff. Rolling his eyes, Raheed followed Asan into the house, already catching the scent of cooking food.

            “Does Elder Hassad know about this girl?” Raheed asked as he leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching Asan knead flatbread dough.

            _She is a friend, nothing more_ , Asan quickly replied back with a frown.

            “I was going to say. You could definitely do better.”        

            Asan slammed the dough hard against the counter and whirled to face Raheed, but he suddenly wilted and Raheed didn’t know the cause until he turned around and found himself standing before a stooped Elder Hassad.

            “What’s all this racket about?” Elder Hassad demanded, tapping his cane on the floor. He lifted a fist to cough, a cough that did not pass until Asan grabbed a cup of water from the nearby bucket and helped him drink from it. After clearing his throat, Elder Hassad continued. “Raheed, you aren’t to stand about and disturb my servant’s work.”

            Raheed gave Elder Hassad a once over, because he looked far more frail than he recalled. “Are you alright, Elder?”

            “Fit as a rooster. Asan, I assume lunch is to be served soon.”

            Asan nodded, head bowed as he quickly returned to his dough.

            “You.” Elder Hassad tapped Raheed’s shoulder. “I wish to speak to you. Leave Asan to his work; he is best left alone.”

 

* * *

 

            When Asan took Elder Hassad his nightly tea, he looked grave.

            “Asan, Raheed has told me about a girl on the premises.”

            Asan kept his face straight, but he silently cursed Raheed. What was he thinking, tattling like that? Of all people, Raheed should know best how to keep secrets. Did he have some sort of motive in telling Elder Hassad?

            Elder Hassad pulled himself to a sit. “I know you, Asan, and I don’t assume you had any ill intentions. However, if she were caught there would be grave consequences for her, and I know you don’t want that. I assume this is why Raheed told me.”

            _Or maybe Raheed is a selfish back end of a camel_ , Asan thought to himself as he kept his hands at his sides.

            _I was teaching her how to draw,_ Asan said instead. _She wanted me to teach her._

“Like I said, pure intentions. But intentions are only as good as your word, and many would not accept that.” Elder Hassad did not look angry, mostly tired. “I know you are lonely. It is the curse of being the only servant in a house with nothing more than an old coot to keep him company.”

            _You have been very good company_ , Asan replied.

            “I know you would prefer someone your age. I would highly recommend befriending a male, so that no cruel rumors get anyone hurt.”           

            A hint of a morbid smile touched Asan’s lips, because if Elder Hassad knew of Asan’s inclinations, he might not be saying that.

            _There is Raheed_ , Asan said.

            “I know you put faith in Raheed, but he has accepted his role as military officer, as well as the power and status that it gives him. I see that he is beginning to treat you more like a servant and less like a friend and Asan, this is _inevitable_. Raheed lives in another world, and I would feel much better if you diverted your attention to someone of your status.”

            _I don’t know anyone_ , Asan replied helplessly. _How can I make friends if I cannot speak to them? If I must work all day?_

“The girl who asked you to be her teacher certainly seemed to like you.”

            _She said I was handsome._ That _is why she likes me_!

            Elder Hassad sighed, eyes slowly closing. “There is no easy solution, is there?”

            Asan watched Elder Hassad a few moments before kneeling at his side. He took both of Elder Hassad’s hands, a touch that seemed to rouse him from a shallow sleep.

            _You are ill, and I am afraid_ , Asan said. _What will I do without you_?  
            Elder Hassad’s brows folded before he sighed, patting Asan’s hands. “I have already made the arrangements. A friend of mine requires a servant, and I think you’d do very well with him.”

            Asan shook his head. _I want to stay here_.

            “Don’t worry, Asan. Everything has been taken care of.”

            Asan refused to accept that answer, because he’d thought a long time ago that Raheed would take care of him. Months later, Raheed was on the march across the desert and Asan was left alone. He’d thought—hoped—that if something happened to Elder Hassad, Raheed might take him on.

            Then again, considering how horribly things were going thus far, did Asan even want that anymore?

            After Elder Hassad drifted to sleep, Asan went outside to tend to his camel. With him he brought some wilted greens that he couldn’t use for cooking, so he fed them to Nutmeg. Her lips wrapped around his offering like fingers, and then her jaw swung sideways as she chewed. Asan couldn’t keep himself from tossing his arms around her head, digging his face into the dense fur on her forehead. Wherever he was going to end up, he’d better be allowed to keep Nutmeg. They turned him away from Raheed and servant girls, so they’d best let him keep at least one of his friends.

            Asan stepped toward her shoulder and sank onto the ground. He embraced her neck, pushing back tears. It was better this way. Nutmeg at least would never reject him, hurt him, or come home drunk. She was always here when he needed her, and that made her a more adept friend than most.

              _Poor Asan_ , Asan thought to himself, wiping away the moisture that gathered in the corners of his eyes. _All you do is feel sorry for yourself_.

            Messenger darted out of the house and bounded toward Asan, tongue flopping. With a weak smile, Asan allowed the dog to clamber onto his lap. He imagined all three of them alone in the desert, no one to bother them or decide their fate. Asan might be able to live with that.

            It was better than the alternatives. 

 

* * *

 

            As the time of his departure loomed, Raheed grew increasingly anxious. He began to do his research, spending more time down by the docks to scope out the boats and the price of taxi. They would pretend to be peasants, of course, but Raheed didn’t exactly care for the arrangements such small sums provided. They would be lucky if they made it to the other side of the sea if they were packed in with other smelly, diseased peasants like cargo. It might be the only way.

            Raheed sold all his trinkets and jewelry, everything but his horse, his armor, and his weapons. He was beginning to realize that perhaps Ahmbra wouldn’t be able to come with them, and the thought of it made him sick. But if he left her with Asan, he knew Asan would take good care of her.

            That led him to Asan. If he couldn’t stand the thought of leaving his horse, he didn’t even want to contemplate having to say goodbye to Asan forever. Asan wouldn’t even _know_ it was forever, which made it even worse. Asan would wait for him, because Raheed had returned twice against all odds; what was to keep him from returning again? But how long would Asan wait? Five years? Ten years? When would he finally realize that Raheed wasn’t coming back? He’d assume Raheed dead, of course. It was best that way but . . . the thought of it sent physical pains through Raheed’s throat and chest. He didn’t want to lie to Asan, and he knew Asan could keep a secret. But Asan would want to come, and Raheed could never put him in such danger. If harm came to Asan, Raheed would be to blame. No, he’d be much safer here, with Elder Hassad. He was already stretching himself thin with Samid and Malli. One soldier could not effectively protect three people, especially when none of them had any fighting skills whatsoever. If they were caught, Asan would perhaps not be punished too harshly, but Raheed would be executed. And then perhaps Asan would blame himself for that.

            At first Raheed had looked forward to running away, but now he loathed to count the days. Of course he wanted to be free, and he wanted and loved Malli more than anything. He certainly wouldn’t miss the military. But it was the most dangerous task he had taken on yet. If he were a foot soldier, his disappearance would most likely be ignored. But he was advisor to General Mamid, and General Mamid, as much as he liked Raheed, would attempt to find him. He was not a sentimental man, and Raheed had no doubt that General Mamid would allow his execution if his duty demanded it of him. You did not run from the Mulli army—that was something Raheed had learned days after his purchase. They hadn’t mentioned execution exactly, but the other boys told him eventually. It was the only thing anyone seemed to fear. 

            Raheed stopped by to visit Malli, not to partake in her services but simply to speak with her. But a girl Raheed did not recognize stopped him in the hallway and informed him she was with a customer.

            Raheed fought jealousy as he asked, “When will she be finished?”

            “He is a very well-paying man. She might be in there all night.”

            Knowing that soon she’d never have to fuck another old rich man again made Raheed’s anger containable. He thanked the girl and asked if she could take him to Samid. The girl took him to the first floor and through several gardens before reaching Samid’s door.

            “What is it?” Samid asked from inside.

            “Someone wants to talk to you?”

            “Who?”

            “Come out and look.”

            There was a pause, and then Samid opened the door. When he saw Raheed, he looked surprised.

            “What is this?” Samid asked as the girl walked away.

            “I want to talk to you.”

            Samid looked up and down the aisle before grabbing Raheed’s wrist and jerking him into the room. He closed the door behind him, then crossed the bed chamber in several strides and leaned against the window.

            “What is it?” Samid asked.

            “Malli has told you about our plan to run?”

            Samid’s expression was blank. “Yes.”

            “She insisted that you come. You’ve agreed, I assume?”

            “I resisted at first. I don’t particularly care to be the odd one out on your romantic _duo_ , but I cannot stay here without her.”

            “You will need to purchase at least a week’s worth of food, if not more. Carry as much money as you can, as bribes are every man’s currency. And . . .” Raheed gave Samid a once over, “dress down a bit.”

            Samid rolled his eyes. “I know how a peasant dresses.” Samid smirked. “You know you’ll have to cut your beard.”

            Raheed hadn’t thought of it, which was very foolish. He reached up to stroke the hair on his chin. It wasn’t just hair, it was what a man _was_. Raheed had fought for this symbol of power, had lived through battles and massacres to wear this badge. Only disgraced men shaved their beards entirely.

            “I suppose I will.”

            “What of Asan?”

            “Asan?” Raheed frowned. “What do you care? You want him to come so you can steal from him again?”

            “You are his master, aren’t you?”

            “Elder Hassad is, not me.”

            “You sure order him about like one.”

            “Samid, you bite your—”

            “Ah ah ah.” Samid waggled a finger and took several strides forward, placing him about a step from Raheed. “Once we leave Ayllamal, you’re not a captain anymore. You’ll be no more important or superior than a whore, and so all this yelling at me you do will have to stop. We’ll be equals, you see? Equals don’t _correct_ one another for being honest.”

            “I’m doing this for _Malli_ ,” Raheed snapped. “Not for you.”

            Samid’s eyes darkened, but he finally shrugged and turned away. “You can’t boss her about either.”

            “I don’t plan on it.”

            Samid opened his mouth, but he clamped his lips shut, as if thinking better of it. After a short silence, Raheed inhaled deeply and tried to calm his stripped nerves.

            “Do you need anything?” he asked at last.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Money. For food and clothing and the like.”

            Samid stared at Raheed for a few moments more, as if trying to gauge Raheed’s honesty. Finally he sighed and nodded. “Master Mahir takes everything I have.”

            “How much?”

            “For Malli and I . . .” Samid’s eyes rolled to the ceiling in thought, then lowered to meet Raheed’s gaze. “Forty should do it.”

            “I’d rather give it to Malli.”

            “Do you think I’d withold it from her?” Samid raised his eyebrows. “Do you take me for an evil person?”

            “I’m just wary of giving money to whores. If they were any more astute, they’d be accountants.”

             One side of Samid’s mouth smiled at this. “Perhaps that will be my new profession.”

            After another moment of hesitation, Raheed dug into his pouch of money and withdrew forty _immas_ , placing them carefully in Samid’s outstretched palm. He wasn’t oblivious to the way Samid watched the money, a vague expression of hunger crossing his features.

            “Promise me you’ll use this _wisely_ ,” Raheed said.

            Samid’s face couldn’t have been more serious as he replied, “You won’t have to worry about that.”

            Because he was an idiot, Raheed trusted him. Malli seemed to trust him, and Raheed loved her. He would have to accept her judgment, even if he thought Samid part crook and part fool.

            There was a knock on the door, and both Samid and Raheed turned when it opened. A plump man with a full gray beard gasped at the sight of the two of them, then closed the door immediately.

            “Pajib,” Samid called through the door, “you can come back in. This gentleman was just leaving.”

            Raheed knew better than to hold a whore up, because time was always precious. So with one last final look at Samid, he threw open the door and stalked into the hall. Pajib let out a cry of shock before throwing a hand up to cover his face.

            Raheed rolled his eyes.

            “He’s all yours, sir,” Raheed said.

            The man didn’t move, so Raheed just strode past him without another word. Whatever Pajib was paying Samid, it was too much. The man was insufferable.

           

* * *

 

            Malli was ill again, though not in the usual way. Instead of fretting her over her in the manner she always hated, Samid decided to sneak out. He might be missed or he might not. None of his regular clients were planning on a visit that day, especially so early in the morning. So with Akeem and Kaja’s help, he was boosted over the tall brothel walls and tumbled a good two stories into the soiled straw that served as the neighbor donkey’s bedding. It wasn’t the most glamorous landing spot, but it was softer than gravel and caked mud. The donkey merely glanced at him before returning to her hay.

            Pulling his cloak tight around him, Samid glanced both ways before scampering down the alley and into the street. Whenever he saw someone he recognized, he made great pains to hide his face using one of Malli’s borrowed veils. At one point a man confused him for a woman and gave him a pat on the behind, but Samid just covered his face and giggled in the way a woman in these parts was expected to. The man walked off, and Samid glared at his departing back. Pig.

            Samid moved down to the boardwalk, where he found a vendor selling candied dates. He purchased one with an _imma_ and walked so far that one of his shoes began to wear a blister into his heel. Finally he came upon the dusty tavern he’d been searching for. It stood three stories tall but slumped to one side, as if mimicking the sway of the water it faced. Perhaps one day it would collapse and the sea would reclaim it, as it already looked partially marine. Some repairs were done with weathered boards from old boats and rotted nets hung from the beams jutting out over the windows and doors. It smelled strongly of fish, and some woman could be heard shouting from within. Samid quickly dashed into the narrow alley that led to the tavern’s backyard, which he knew to consist of a crumbling well, two chickens, and a bony goat. The walls were tall and solid, but Samid was used to climbing walls by now, so it took him all of a minute to ascend the wall and seat himself on its peak.

            The door opened and a little girl scampered out, the woman’s screaming trailing behind her. The girl was dressed in little more than rags, holding balled fists to her eyes as she sobbed. There was a red mark on her cheek, probably from a rather nasty assault. She recovered from her episode remarkably fast for someone so young; by the time she got to the well, her eyes were dry, even when her cheeks remained damp. She jolted when she saw Samid on the wall.

            Samid held a finger to his mouth, and she grinned. He couldn’t help but smile gently at the ecstatic expression on her face, seemingly the only joy she ever showed. She trotted over to the base of the wall and looked up at him.

            “Samid,” she whispered happily.

            Samid slid down to the other side of the wall, his slippers making little more than a dull thump in the dirt. He crouched down so that he was at her level before pulling the candied date from beneath his caftan.

            Her eyes went wide with elation, though she took the date carefully, as if afraid it weren’t real. When Samid nodded, she nibbled at the side. She probably wanted to make it last as long as possible.

            “How are you?” Samid asked softly, taking her free hand and squeezing it.

            She shrugged, her usual answer to such a question. Samid knew it was a silent gesture for _miserably_.

            “I haven’t seen you in a while,” she murmured, still clutching his hand.

            Samid reached up with the edge of his cloak and rubbed the dirt from her tear-streaked cheeks. “I’ve been very busy. I’ve missed you very much.”

            The girl nodded. “Me too.”

            “You look taller. Have you been getting older on me?”

            The girl giggled. Samid gently attempted to remove his hand from her grasp, but she held firm.

            “How old are you now?” Samid asked.

            The girl held up five fingers, and Samid gasped in surprise.

            “I don’t think you’re a day over four and a half,” Samid said, and she giggled again.

            “I want to get older,” the girl said. “Maybe then I can leave.”

            Samid sobered, lifting a hand to brush her thick, dark hair out of her face. It pained him to look into this huge, black eyes and know that there was nothing he could do to remove the pain from them.   
            “When I am older,” the girl said, “can I come live with you? You said that I am too young—”

            “Shhh.” Samid reached down to adjust the sack that she wore, probably something that had held potatoes in a former life. “You do not want to live with me. It is not a nice place.”

            “But you are nice.”

            Samid chuckled. “You shouldn’t trust nice men who bring you candied dates.”

            “Why not?”

            “Sometimes things are not what they seem.”

            “Are you?”

            “No. I’m actually a prince from a faraway land.”

            The girl’s eyes shone with delight. “Can I be a princess then?”  
            “Of course. You’ll get your own little fat pony and eat all the candied dates you want.”

            “That would mean my mother would be queen.”

            Samid fell silent, glancing down at the earth beneath his feet. “Yes, I suppose she would be.”

            There was a long silence. The girl was imaginative but also harshly rooted in reality. She knew Samid was not a prince, knew somewhere deep inside that she’d never be a princess. But with Samid, she seemed to let herself believe it for a moment. She moved forward and wrapped bony arms around Samid’s waist, digging her face into his caftan.

            “I would whisk you away if I could, love,” Samid whispered into her hair. “Neither of us would ever cry again.”

            She held him tighter, and he felt the air in his lungs tremble. He could endure more pain than most, but he found it exceedingly difficult to bear it for others. Malli’s agony nearly broke him, and now this little girl was going to destroy what little strength he had left. Malli always told him he stretched himself too thin. He felt frail as aged parchment right now, awaiting the one stiff breeze that would tear him to pieces.

            “Safa, I must go now, before your mistress realizes that I am here.”

            Safa pulled away, eyes glittering with tears. “When will I see you again?”

            “Soon, darling.” Samid wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and kissed her forehead. “I’ll make sure of it. Maybe I’ll bring you a small toy next time.”

            After one last hug, Samid climbed the wall. He straddled the top as he looked down upon Safa. She looked as forlorn and lost as that fifteen-year-old Mulli-by-blood girl he’d found in the alley, starving and despondent. He supposed he’d never forgive himself for leading Malli to the life that had ruined his childhood, but perhaps this was one small way to make it up to her. Perhaps he could save Safa from Malli’s fate. Perhaps, if he was diligent, he wouldn’t have to see an eight-year-old Safa sold to a man who paid a high price for virgins.

            Or maybe he would be as helpless as he’d always been, and he’d watch another flower ripped apart by bitter, savage winds.

            Samid slid down the wall and began his trek back to the White House. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ja'll can take a wild guess at who Safa is. 8D
> 
> I promise Asan is significantly less pathetic in the second book. I think he's very depressed at this point, and it's hard to write in that frame of mind because he's guaranteed to be annoying no matter what I do. :/ Anyway, two more chapters to go!


	27. The Moon Festival

 

             Raheed watched as his troop fell into line. Most of them were young, ranging from sixteen to twenty. A few were older, noticeable not only because they looked their age but because they were touched with the signs of battle: scars, hard eyes, a lack of fear. It hurt to look at the young ones, because he knew that many of them would never return. And Raheed would be the one marching them toward their doom.

            Raheed rode his horse back and forth across the line until two men at each end stepped forward. One was tall and slight of build, the other much shorter and built like an ox. Raheed stopped Ahmbra in front of the tall one, waiting expectantly for the soldier to introduce himself.

            “Sir,” the boy said, probably no older than Raheed when he lost Jhali. “I am Lieutenant Uthal, sir.”

            “Lieutenant?” A lieutenant so young? Impossible. Raheed leaned down closer, inspecting the boy’s complexion. It was just as he thought. A Mulli-by-blood. No Mulli-by-blood spent more than three months as a common foot soldier. Their fathers were often able to buy them promotions, if Mulli-by-blood officers didn’t first promote them willingly.

            “Yes, sir.” The boy lifted squinted eyes to observe Raheed. Raheed sensed a haughtiness characteristic to most Mulli-by-blood, but he tried not to judge too harshly at first. Every man needed to prove himself. It could be that Raheed’s prejudice was coloring his impression.

            “Very well.” Raheed trotted Ahmbra to the other end of the line. This officer was a bit older, but not much. Raheed put him at around Asan’s age, and judging by his slight accent, he was a recent _bhanak_. It made it all that more impressive that he’d graduated into officer status in such short a time. “And you are?”

            “Corporal Waqas, sir,” the man replied.

            “I assume you’ve seen battle before?”

            “I spent two years on the field, sir.”

            “And why were you promoted while others were not?” Raheed gestured to a nearby foot soldier, who appeared to be a few years older than Raheed.

            “I can’t tell you, sir. I merely accepted when offered, sir.”

            “Hmm.” Raheed looked down the line of men, then pressed Ahmbra into a steady walk. He raised his voice so that all hundred men could hear him.

            “My name is Captain Raheed, and you will all be reporting to me from now until you’re dead. Or I’m dead. I suppose either is possible. I’m not sure if you’ve been told, but we’ll be marching on the Hahnar front, which is undeniably the most dangerous front that we can fight.” Raheed watched the eyes of his soldiers, especially those of the younger ones. He noticed a few shift uncomfortably. “No one told me that when I went, so I thought I’d let you know. The Hahnars do not fight with honor or decency, and so I expect that you won’t either. There is a place for Mulli pride, and it is here, where that shit matters. Once we get out there, the only thing that matters is staying alive. If I do my job properly, it means you can all succeed in that. Are there any questions so far?”

            “Sir,” asked a thin boy with an ill-fitting helmet.

            “Yes?”  
            “Have you fought the Hahnars?”

            “Yes. I fought them with an army. I’m one of two who survived.”

            There was a long silence, broken only by a cough and more nervous shifting of feet.

            “We have been fighting the Hahnars for a long time. They have weakened since I battled them. If we are one of the troops who can break their lines, Mulli will reward you with all you are due. However, I’m not going to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. We are fighting a war, and war with the Hahnars brings all the usual death and destruction. But it also brings glory, glory that will reward you in this life and the next.”

            It wasn’t exactly the stirring speech of Mulli pride that Raheed’s officers had shouted to him when he was a lowly foot soldier, but Raheed had also been naïve and stupid because of it. If the truth was going to save his men’s lives, he’d forsake all lies.

            Besides, it was best not to get them too riled up. After all, Raheed wasn’t going to be their officer much longer.

 

* * *

 

            Asan brought Elder Hassad’s usual tea to his bed chamber, shutting the door softly behind him. When he reached Elder Hassad’s side, he couldn’t help but reach out and take the old man’s hand. Asan could see a confusing map of veins running along Elder Hassa’ds knuckles, darker now than he ever remembered.

            “Elder?” Asan asked out loud, setting down the tea so that he could squeeze Elder Hassad’s hand tighter. Still his eyes did not open, and Asan grew worried. He reached across his body to grab his other hand, which seemed to finally rouse Elder Hassad from his slumber.

            Much of the color had gone from Elder Hassad’s face, and his eyes were bleary. Asan had thought him weak last week, but now he seemed even more listless, waking up only to drink his tea and eat the soup that Asan spoon fed him. He didn’t read his scrolls anymore, didn’t have the energy. Asan would have liked him to sleep less often, but his brief spells of awareness also seemed to bring on powerful coughing fits that rendered Elder Hassad helpless for hours. At least when he slept, he was at peace.

            “Asan,” Elder Hassad croaked, “my tea.”

            Asan helped sit him up so that he could sip from the cup. As Elder Hassad drank, Asan sat nervously beside him, wringing his hands in his lap.

            “Stop that,” Elder Hassad scolded, reaching out to lay a hand on Asan’s. “No fidgeting.”

            Asan did as he was asked. He was unable to voice his fears, as he didn’t want to remind Elder Hassad of his own frailty. But Elder Hassad was not stupid and expected the source of Asan’s anxiety.

            “I’m old, Asan. Very old. It happens to us all.”

            Asan nodded, biting his lip and looking down at his lap as he fought the pressure in his throat.

            “Death is a scary thing for the young to contemplate,” Elder Hassad continued, then began to cough. All Asan could do was remove the tea from Elder Hassad’s hand so that he did not burn himself and fetch him some water for when the coughing subsided.

            Elder Hassad took several gulps from the ladel that Asan offered before sinking back into his pillows in exhaustion.

            “I believe the Moon Festival starts tomorrow,” Elder Hassad said. “You should go. It will be a spectaclar event.”

            _You are ill. I must stay with you_.

            “I’m going to get older whether you’re here or not.”

            _There will always be more Moon Festivals. I want to stay with you_.

            “Asan.” Elder Hassad reached out and took Asan’s hand. “When Raheed first brought you to me I thought he was driven mad by the desert heat. But now . . .” Elder Hassad patted Asan’s hand fondly. “Now I think you are a blessing.” His rheumy eyes found Asan’s. “God has a way of surprising us, does he not?”

            _God is trying to take you from me_.

            “Ah, perhaps.” Elder Hassad closed his eyes and sank deeper into his bed. “I suppose I will see Bhada again. He was a servant but a good friend that I miss dearly. I look forward to seeing him. Perhaps my mother as well. She was a good woman, pious and loving. Shame God took her so young. But God has a plan. He always has a plan.”

            Asan highly doubted that, but he did not say so.

            “Where has Raheed been lately?” Elder Hassad asked just when Asan thought he’d drifted off to sleep.

            _He is sleeping at the barracks more and more, I think_.

            “Well, I would like to see him again, just once. I have some wisdom to impart.”          

            _I will bring him to you_.

            “Good man.” Elder Hassad squeezed Asan’s hand again. “You are such a good man.”

            Asan lifted Elder Hassad’s hand and pressed it against his forehead, swallowing down tears of uncertainty, grief, and fear. Asan was not a very devout prayer, but he prayed harder now than he ever had before. It was useless; all men had to die. But there was so much more Elder Hassad had to teach him, and Asan had so much more he wanted to learn.

            “Go,” Elder Hassad said. “Do your chores and take some Ghazi some of that fruit your purchased. I’m sure he will appreciate it.”

 

* * *

 

            Raheed stared at the gate in front of him with trepidation. Ahmbra snorted and stomped a foot behind him, but he ignored her. His mind was overwhelmed with speeches, none of which seemed to sound right in his head.

            With a sigh, Raheed knocked.

            It took a few minutes for Messenger to fetch Asan, but finally the gate was pulled open. Asan’s caftan looked rumpled, his hands and knees covered in a thin film of dirt. His expression was unnervingly blank, his eyes empty.

            _You must speak with Elder Hassad_.

            “I want to speak with you.”

            _Elder Hassad is very sick. There is time for me. I don’t know how much there is for him._

            “I have to go now,” Raheed insisted, which was only partially true. He knew that if he spoke to Elder Hassad, he might lose his nerve. Even when sick, Elder Hassad was incredibly observant, and he’d know something was wrong with Raheed. And then he’d dig through Raheed’s lies in his usual careless manner and Raheed would cave. Even if Elder Hassad was on the edge of death like Asan said, did it make any difference? Raheed wouldn’t be seeing him again either way. “I don’t have time.”

            _Go where_? Asan asked.

            “Away. Asan . . .” Raheed trailed off and ran a hand through his hair. He then gestured to the bags strapped to Ahmbra’s saddle. He had gathered all of his belongings weeks before, doing it gradually so that Asan would not notice. Maybe he should have informed Asan sooner, but Asan would have wanted to come, and Raheed wasn’t very good at saying no to him. “I am heading out to battle.”

            Asan’s eyes widened in shock, his lips thinning as the silence stretched on. After he seemed to finally understand what Raheed was saying, he began to sign at a speed barely comprehensible to Raheed.

            _What do you mean, you’re leaving? When did you know this?_

“A while ago.”

            Asan’s mouth opened briefly as both rage and injury crossed Asan’s features. Raheed quickly spoke before Asan could manage.

            “I should have told you, I know. But I suppose I didn’t want you to waste your time worrying about the inevitable. It is less painful this way.”

            Asan suddenly shoved him, something so shocking that Raheed nearly fell over. When he regained his balance, there was such ferocity in Asan’s glare that even Raheed felt a brief swell of fear.

            _Less painful for_ whom _?_ Asan signed violently. _How could you do this to me_?

            Raheed looked over his shoulder, trying to regain his stoicism. Asan was taking this as poorly as Raheed’s worst estimation had expected, which did him no favors. As if he needed more to worry about.

            “Asan—”

            _Where are you going? For how long_?

            “I don’t know. Could be a year. Could be ten. There’s no way to tell.”

            _You_ . . . Asan’s hands dropped in indignation and Asan began to pace, his movement heavily agitated. _Why would you do this to me? Do you hate me_?

            “This has nothing to do with you.”

            _It has everything to do with me! Elder Hassad sits on the edge of death and you’re leaving me. What am I to do?_

“Elder Hassad told me he made arrangements.”

            _I don’t care about_ arrangements _. I don’t want to be given to another master like a slave. I want to be in charge of my own life_.

            “Then take charge of it! What do I care? You’re your own man now. Do what you want. It’s more than what I can do, and you don’t see me complaining about it.”

            _You can speak. You can communicate with whomever you want. I will need to start from scratch—_

“And I may _die_ , Asan! But God forbid you be unable to communicate for a goddamn day!”

            Asan looked shocked a moment, but his anger returned. He clenched his fist and looked away, brows folded over his eyes. Raheed was provided the time he required to calm down and control himself.

            “I don’t want to fight with you. I want to say goodbye. Let me do that, alright?”

            Asan didn’t move for a while, clenching and unclenching his fists as he stared down at his feet. Finally he lifted a gaze so fraught with emotion that Raheed couldn’t even describe it. He just knew that it hurt to meet it. So he rested a hand on Ahmbra’s neck and faced her instead.

            Asan dug under the collar of his caftan and pulled out the old Hahnar pin, which he must have started hiding since Elder Hassad complained of its presence. The sight of it filled Raheed with revulsion, recalling the smell of stale blood and the sight of rolling heads. But he knew it held none of those memories for Asan.

            “Still have that then?” Raheed asked weakly.

            Asan nodded. _Good luck charm_.

            “Yes. I suppose it is.”

            _Where are you going_?

            Raheed reached out and took the pin in his hand, pulling Asan forward by the chain around his neck. He watched the dusk light flicker in the tarnished surface.

            “The Hahnars,” he murmured.

            Asan’s eyes widened. _You fought the Hahnars years ago_.

            “I did.”

            _You survived it then_.

            “I did.” Raheed sighed and released the pin. “I believe their ranks have weakened, but they are the most powerful empire we have fought thus far.”

            Asan bit his lip, looking down at the pin in his hand. _When you come back, can you bring me a pin from Khamal_?

            “Khamal? How do you know about Khamal?”  
            _I read_.

            “Hmm.” Raheed pursed his lips, then sighed. “Let us hope I don’t have to go anywhere near Khamal. The last thing I need is _more_ Hahnars to fight.”

            There was a short silence because Raheed didn’t know how to proceed and Asan kept his eyes on the pin, as if afraid to look up. Finally Raheed took a step forward and placed his hand on Asan’s shoulder. Asan looked up at him, all of his anger drained. Raheed preferred the anger to the helplessness that now greeted him.

            _Take me with you_ , Asan said.

            “I can’t do that. I’d be putting you in danger.”

            _I don’t care. I want to go with you._

“There’s no way. I want you to be safe here. Elder Hassad needs you.”

            Asan looked back at the house, clearly torn. When he turned back to Raheed, there were tears glittering along the edges of his eyes.

            _I can’t let you leave me again_ , Asan said.

            Raheed fought to breathe past the clenching in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

            _All anyone has ever done is leave me_. _I don’t mind danger, nor am I afraid of Hahnars. I want to be with you. I—_ Asan paused, then took a deep breath and signed, _I love you_.

            “Asan,” Raheed exhaled before pulling Asan into a tight embrace. Asan was hesitant a moment, then wrapped his arms around Raheed and squeezed so tightly that Raheed had trouble breathing. Raheed had feared this, because how could he let go of Asan now? Every part of him yearned to bring Asan with him, yet he knew he couldn’t. In battle perhaps he could keep Asan safe, but not when the military wanted him found and executed. Asan would certainly be charged with conspiracy and probably executed as well. Raheed wouldn’t be the man who got Asan killed.

            “You will always be my brother,” Raheed whispered, knowing that Asan could not hear it.

            Asan did not release Raheed willingly, but eventually Raheed was able to pry him off. Asan was crying but quickly raised his hands to wipe the tears away.

            “You take care of Elder Hassad,” Raheed said. “Tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t stay and speak with him. I know he’s in good hands.”

            Asan nodded, moisture still swelling in his eyes. Raheed took his face in his hands and met his gaze.

            “Whatever happens, I want you to be happy. I hope that you can find that for yourself. Know that you’ve been a very good . . .” Raheed struggled with the word but forced it out, “ _friend_ to me, perhaps more loyal and good-hearted than I deserve.”

            Asan smiled, and it was one of the rare true smiles that Raheed had seen on him. So Raheed smiled back, even if it pained the muscles in his face. He pulled Asan back into one more hug, because while Asan was free to assume Raheed would be returning, Raheed knew better.

            He’d never see Asan again.

            Raheed finally took a step back and gathered Ahmbra’s reins in his hands. “I fear it is time to say goodbye, Asan.”

            Asan nodded, still wiping away tears. Raheed realized that Asan felt his emotions at a different level than Raheed, which made both his sorrow and his anger more powerful. As someone who had spent most of his life alone, it would make sense that he’d have more difficulty reining in his feelings. Raheed had seen him become more secluded as he grew more accustomed to servitude. If Raheed ever returned, would he even recognize his servant?

            Raheed placed a hand on Asan’s shoulder and squeezed. With one last pained smile, Raheed turned and headed down the alley, ignoring the dark figure that watched from behind, growing smaller and smaller as Raheed put more distance between them. Finally Raheed heard the click of a distant gate, and when he looked back, Asan was gone.

            Raheed lifted a hand to his face and pushed his fingers into his burning eyes as he cried.

 

* * *

 

            The Moon Festival was one of the largest celebrations Ayllamal held, and Raheed remembered never missing a single one when he was younger. There were parades and shows and the most delicious and sundry selection of food one could ever ask for. Everyone strung their houses with swathes of white fabric, which was also a light shade of dirt brown by the end of the week. The last time he’d attended the Moon Festival, he’d been with Jhali, Kavin, and Habib. They had eaten so much that Habib had to throw up on the way home, and then they made fun of him mercilessly for two weeks afterward. The memory was so bittersweet now, but it didn’t make him as sad as it might have a few years ago. Raheed had seen a lot of death; he’d forgotten how one normally reacted to it.

            He had to step aside and let a parade of brightly decorated camels pass, their faces nearly hidden beneath multi-colored tassels and bells. A woman in red rode upon one, her headdress taller than her head and neck combined. She blew a kiss to him, and he just nodded with a forced smile.

            Raheed grew more nervous as he approached the city square, constantly wondering if he was doing the right thing. He was supposed to be ready for departure by tomorrow morning. Once they realized he was gone, they’d search for him, which only gave him a night and a sliver of dawn to get as far away as possible. It hurt to think of how he’d be disappointing General Mamid, who had invested so much time and effort into Raheed’s training. But Raheed could not spend the rest of his life trying to please other men. This was one decision—perhaps the _only_ decision—that he was making all on his own. This was what _he_ wanted, and a man should be able to do his own bidding. Why have free will otherwise?

            The city square finally came into sight. It was said that it used to be the ancient temple of the men that Mulli had conquered, but people could only speculate. In the center of the massive square stood an enormous fig tree, said to have been planted by the Third prophet when he took the city for Mulli. Of course, Raheed wasn’t sure that a tree could be that old, but no one questioned it. It was considered a sacred tree nontheless, and its wide-reaching limbs had been strung with glowing lamps and bowls of burning incense, making the entire square smell almost sickly sweet. Children scampered about laughing as they held aloft long sticks with white streamers attached. Two boys nearly ran straight into Raheed before apologizing and giggling as they galloped away. Ahmbra stomped her foot with impatience, so Raheed advanced further into the square, looking for Malli and Samid to appear. There were many people, but most of them wore white. It would be easy to spot two people wearing blue. He stayed to the outer rim of the crowd, however, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Once he met up with Malli, they’d head for the local horse market and sell Ahmbra, a task he was dreading. Ahmbra had saved his hide several times in battle and he almost considered her a friend.

            _Malli is more important than a silly horse_ , Raheed thought to himelf, returning his gaze to the crowd.

 

* * *

 

            Raheed waited about an hour before he realized something must be wrong.

            They had agreed to meet at dusk. The moon was already beginning to rise and Raheed had not yet found them. Even if they were hidden away, they’d most certainly see him, as he was one of the few men with horses in the square. Over and over his eyes swept the square, but he did not see so much as a blue scarf.

            By the time the sky had grown dark, Raheed decided that he could wait no longer. They were wasting precious time, and Malli might be in trouble. Casting one last desperate look at the crowds in the square, Raheed mounted Ahmbra and kicked her to a fast trot toward the southern docks.

 

* * *

 

            The full moon was visible above the rooftops as Raheed galloped down empty alleyways until he reached the sea. Most people were celebrating near the square tonight, so windows were mostly dark. Of course, the southern docks were nevery empty, and there were always men looking for a bite. But Raheed was able to make his way down the street at a rather speedy pace until he reached the White House, which was quiet but not unusually so. He could hear the plucking of an _oud_ inside, as well as see the burning of a lamp in several windows.

            He leapt off Ahmbra and tied her to a hitching post before knocking the door. As always, the burly servant answered. He asked no questions as Raheed charged past him into the courtyard.

            Raheed knew the way by now. He nearly slammed into two young women in his path, both of whom ducked away in fear when he didn’t even bother to apologize. He grabbed one by the arms, and she squeaked in alarm.

            “Is everything alright here?” he asked. “Has anything happened?”

            The girl looked at him as if he were insane. “What are you talking about?”

            He tossed her away from him and continued on his way, already sweating despite the cool breeze. Something was not right. Malli could be in danger.

            Raheed finally found the right courtyard and took the stairs to the second floor veranda two at a time. He heard the sigh of a woman and the grunt of a man in the nearest room, meaning that nothing was out of the ordinary. That was, until he heard a muffled scream.

            “Malli?” he gasped, then burst into a run, already drawing his sword. It had to be her; it _sounded_ like her, and it had come from the last room.

            Raheed skidded to a stop just outside her door and didn’t even knock. He just shoved his way in, sword in hand. He hadn’t expected there to be people standing just inside the door, therefore striking them as he shouldered his way in.

            For a second he met the gazes of those who had turned around to stare at him. There were three women, one of them much too old to be a whore. Then at the sound of another cry, his head whipped to the bed, where Malli was lying, bathed in sweat and swathed in white fabric. Just below the waist, the fabric was drenched in blood, and a woman stood between her splayed legs, this one old as well. At Malli’s side sat Samid, who had whipped around to face Raheed upon his entrance.

            “What the hell is—Malli?” Raheed blurted.

            Malli’s eyes shot open, and she gaped at Raheed in the doorway. “Raheed!”

            “What’s going on?” he insisted loudly, shoving past the women around him and heading straight for Malli’s side. He did not expect Samid to suddenly pull a long dagger from beneath the scarves belting his waist and point it straight at Raheed’s throat.

            “Get out,” he snarled, more vicious than Raheed had ever seen him.

            “Samid,” Malli cried, twisting to cover her face. The blood stain on the white sheets grew larger. “Get him out of here!”

            “Malli, what is going on?” Raheed insisted, voice high-pitched and unsure. He was confused and terrified, because he’d never seen anything like this.

            Samid took a handful of Raheed’s cloak and yanked him backward. Raheed shoved him, but Samid had the dagger at his throat again, looking quite capable of using it. Wanting to fight but also not wanting to do so in front of an ailing Malli, he let Samid drag him out onto the veranda, which was eerily silent once Samid slammed the the door shut behind him. Raheed could still hear Malli’s mewling cries of pain, which made Raheed try for the door again.

            “Don’t you dare,” Samid growled, standing in Raheed’s way. “Go. Down to the garden.”

            “What’s going on? What’s wrong with her?”

            “Didn’t a girl come to you at the square and tell you that Malli could not come tonight?”

            “No. No one came!”

            Samid frowned, then cursed, then pointed behind Raheed. “Downstairs.”

            “Not until I know what’s happening!”

            “I will tell you. In the garden.”

            “Can you stop pointing that thing at me?”

            Samid just jabbed it closer, so Raheed turned and headed down the veranda, then descended the stairs and slipped into the gardens, Samid at his back.

            “Sit.” Samid pointed to a marble bench by a small pond. “Sit there and shut up.”

            “Is she dying?” Raheed asked, voice breaking.

            “No. I don’t think so.”

            “You don’t _think_ so?”

            “She’s survived the procedure before.”

            “ _Procedure_? What _procedure_?”

            Samid stared at Raheed for a long time before he spoke again, this time so quietly that Raheed had to strain to here him. “You think bedding a whore is any different from bedding a wife? You realize that there are _consequences_ of fucking, don’t you?”

            “What?”

            “You are really thick,” Samid said with disgust.

            “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I don’t understand everything about everything like _you_. Just tell me what they’re doing to her! Please!” Raheed was near tears for the second timd tonight. Seeing Malli in pain had punched through all his barriers and made his chest constrict with pain.

            “A man puts more than his cock in a whore. He puts his seed there too. And you know what seeds produce? Children. Do you understand now, _captain_? She’s getting rid of whatever it is you men put in her.”

            “She’s with child?”

            “By the end of the night, she won’t be.”

            Raheed felt the blood leave his face, and he jerked to a stand. Samid shoved him back down onto the bench with more strength than Raheed had thought him capable of.

            “Is it mine?” Raheed demanded.

            “Who gives a shit if it’s yours. It doesn’t matter. It’s a parasite.”

            “How can you say—how can you _say_ that—”

            “How can _I_ say that? Of course you an sit there and think children are the blessings of the earth. You put your cock in a million women and don’t have to think beyond that. You pay for your hour and then you leave, and that’s the end of your part of the tale. Children are a _curse_ for a whore. Once she’s too fat to fuck, she can’t pay for her board. Even if she’s not tossed out, even if she’s granted amnesty for those few months, they take the baby away the moment it slides out because she still has to make money, and babies are only worth what someone will pay for them. And then she never sees that child again, isn’t even allowed to name it. And then the cycle repeats itself, over and over. Don’t you think she’s sick of being a cow, birthing children sold at auction only so that some can drink her milk? She’s not even allowed to have this small favor, which is why we must be _quiet_ , because if Master Mahir finds out we are denying him another child to sell then he’ll be furious, and it’ll be Malli who pays.”

            Raheed stared at him in disbelief, his throat dry.

            “Never thought about it, have you?” Samid smirked, but there was no humor there. “How naïve and innocent you are.”

            “She didn’t tell me she was with child.”

            “She only recently knew.”

            “She should have told me!”

            “Why? What does she owe you?”

            “We were going to—”

            “Run away together?” Samid snorted, expression cruel. “She was never planning on that, Raheed. Perhaps originally, but a woman will change her mind. She only kept you believing so that you would give us the forty _immas_ we needed to pay these women to remove the child from within her.”

            “How many times has she done this?” Raheed whispered. He knew there was a wave of agony heading his way, but it was kept at bay by a wall of horror. “Has she survived it before?”

            “Yes, several. She’s strong. She’ll make it.” Samid’s eyes darted to the ground. “She will have to.”

            Raheed grabbed his knees to keep himself steady, but he could feel his vision beginning to waver. It couldn’t be true. They were going to run away together. That had been the plan. He had already been envisioning his future across the sea, a free man with a woman who loved him for more than what he could pay her . . .

            “Poor Raheed,” Samid purred, leaning down closer to him. “How terrible it must be for you to lose a woman you cared for so deeply. It must be painful. I’m sure that having your womb scraped and poisoned _pales_ in comparison to what you must feel now.”

            Raheed couldn’t even feel rage. He just felt . . . empty. This was not happening. It could not be true.

            “I’ve found one of her children,” Samid said softly. “Malli doesn’t know about Safa yet, but after all this is over, I’ll tell her. And when we do run—we _will_ run—it will be just us three. I’m sorry, but you were never part of the plan.” Samid knelt down, his eyes losing much of their cruelty. “I’m sorry, Raheed, but she never felt about you one way or another. You were a decent man who paid up front and never complained. That was as far as her affection extended.” He leaned in closer. “Whores tell such _pretty lies_.”

            Raheed stared at him blankly, unable to respond with words. Samid rose slightly and kissed Raheed on the cheek before standing.

            “Goodnight, Raheed,” he said, then headed back toward the staircase leading to the second-floor veranda.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is short, and it will be the last chapter of THIS installment. I've already started on the second one, and I promise it's a lot happier than this one. :( I mean, not INITIALLY, but eventually.
> 
> Reviews are love!


	28. The Soldier and His Servant

            Messenger found Asan in his bedchamber, barking in a frightened manner that instilled instant worry. Asan jumped to his feet and trotted downstairs, swinging into Elder Hassad’s bedchamber in a flurry.

            “Elder?” he asked cautiously before darting forward to light the bedside lamp. Elder Hassad was watching him, but his face was eerily pale in the moonlight. Panic began to blossom in Asan’s throat.

            “Raheed,” Elder Hassad said.

            _Raheed is not here_ , Asan said, kneeling at Elder Hassad’s side and clutching his cold hand in his. _I told him, but he would not come_. _He is already gone_.

            Elder Hassad closed his eyes with a sigh. Asan feared that perhaps those eyes would not open again, but after several terrifying moments they did, and Elder Hassad gestured to a scroll and pen sitting on the windowsill.

            “Write this down,” he said, so Asan gathered the supplies and a writing board before sitting back beside Elder Hassad and moving the lamp close enough so that he could see what he was doing.

            “Tell Raheed . . .” Elder Hassad took a deep breath. Asan feared he might start coughing, but he only turned his head to face Asan. “Write that I regret we were not able to speak earlier. I had many things to tell him, but above all I want him to remember not to forget himself. I do not want him to lose sight of that . . .” Elder Hassad paused to take another breath, “ . . . young, curious boy I taught to read and write. I fear he is slowly losing his way, and I want him to know that God will always show him the road home should he be open to God’s word.”

            Asan wrote furiously. By the time he had finished, Elder Hassad had turned back to face the ceiling.

            “Get me some water, Asan, for I am thirsty.”

            Asan jumped up and grabbed the ewer of water sitting nearby, then filled a glass for Elder Hassad. He noticed his hands were shaking as he did so.       

            After a small sip, Elder Hassad waved the glass away and then took Asan’s hand. His grip was weak and damp with sweat, but Asan held the knobby fingers with as much strength as he could manage without breaking them.

            “Tell him,” Elder Hassad continued, and Asan reached for his pen again. But Elder Hassad shook his head. “Tell him that _you_ , Asan . . . you will show him the way. You know God more than anyone.” He twisted his hand in Asan’s grip so that he was holding Asan’s hand instead. “I see a greatness in you that does not fade in the sun. It is not the greatness of kings or generals, but it is a greatness God can see, one that God will reward in heaven. And _heaven_ , Asan . . .” A slow, peaceful smile stretched across Elder Hassad’s face, one of the few Asan had ever seen, “ . . . heaven is where I will see you again.”

            Asan felt tears gather in his eyes. He lifted Elder Hassad’s hand to his mouth and pressed a firm kiss to the swollen knuckles. When he opened his eyes and gazed back down upon Elder Hassad, he saw that the color in the cleric’s face had drained and that his eyes had grown glassy with death. But a small touch of a smile remained.

            Asan bent over Elder Hassad’s chest and sobbed, still clutching Elder Hassad’s slack hand in a powerful grip. Asan felt his throat swell with wails he could not hear, but he did not care if his cries woke the neighbors or the whole city.

            Nearby, Messenger began to howl, and dog and servant mourned their master together.

 

* * *

 

            The sky had lightened and the celebratory sounds of the Moon Festival had died. Now all was quiet, save the occasional crow of a rooster or bray of a donkey.

            The ground swayed, and Raheed bent over his horse with a groan. He hadn’t even been paying attention to their direction, but perhaps Ahmbra knew better than he. When he looked up, they were standing outside Elder Hassad’s front gate.

            Raheed took his canteen from his waist and took another swig. The burn lit his tongue and throat on fire as the liquid dribbled down. He didn’t think he’d ever been _this_ drunk before, so drunk that even vomiting took too much coordination to complete. He was shocked he was still on his horse, or that had even manged to climb on.

            “Asan!” he shouted, trying to get his foot out of his stirrup. It stuck to the sole of his boot, and by the time it came loose, he was already leaning too far to the right. With a cry of alarm, Raheed crumpled to the ground, his right foot still stuck in the stirrup. Normally such a fall would spook Ahmbra, but today she merely stood there and ignored his prone body. He decided yelling again might bring Asan to him.

            “Assaaaaaaan!” he bellowed, then swore as he tried to reach up and remove his foot from the stirrup. But his arm was not functioning properly, and his whole body collapsed to the ground. Ahmbra took a few steps forward, dragging him along behind her.

            “Ahmbra, you stupid _bitch_!” he snarled as she started walking faster now. “ _Aargh_ , stop!”

            The gate opened, but Raheed was too far down the alley to see who it admitted. Finally he caught sight of Asan trotting over and taking Ahmbra’s bridle to stop her. She finally halted, and Raheed moaned in pain. His head felt as if it had been dragged along behind a horse, but of course it did.

            “Get my foot out of this stirrup,” Raheed said, though it came out as something much different. Asan bent over and pulled Raheed’s boot from the stirrup, and Raheed let out a grunt of approval. Then Asan took Ahmbra and began to walk her back to the gate.

            “Asan! Where are you going? Asan!”

            Asan ignored him and led Ahmbra through the gate and into the yard out of sight. Raheed rolled over and began crawling forward, though the position made his gut clench. If he moved a hair further, he’d vomit. He knew he would. So he remained there on his hands and knees, focusing all his energy on keeping his stomach under control.

            The gate creaked, and Raheed looked up. Asan was standing in the alley, watching him. His expression was missing, as if he couldn’t care less about Raheed’s state one way or another.

            “What are you doing standing there?” Raheed snapped. “Help me up.”

            Asan didn’t obey immediately, but he finally strode forward and held out two hands for Raheed to grab. When he pulled Raheed to a stand, the sudden change in altitude made the threatening vomit finally rise, and Raheed turned to throw up. He barely missed Asan’s bare feet as he did so. He hadn’t eaten anything for hours, so only spittle and some pale yellow stomach juice emerged, not even substantial enough to splatter. Some of it hung from his mouth in a long string of viscous liquid.

            Asan reached up with a sleeve and wiped Raheed’s mouth. Raheed whined as his stomach rippled with pain, and he grasped Asan to keep himself from stumbling. Slowly, they made their way to the front gate and into the yard.

            Asan lowered Raheed to the porch steps, and Raheed’s hand searched for the canteen at his waist. Asan’s fingers moved faster than his, and he pulled it from Raheed’s grasp.

            “Give me that,” Raheed snarled.

            Asan wound back his arm and threw it over the dividing wall. It landed with a thump in the neighbor’s yard.

            “Asan!” Raheed barked, whipping around so fast that he lost his balance and collapsed to the steps with a groan. “You . . . _bastard_.”

            Only with his head on the step did he realize that Nutmeg was lying in front of him, her back burdened with several boxes and rolls of bedding. Messenger was sitting at her side, tied to her saddle with a long thin piece of twine.

            “What the hell . . .?” Raheed straightened, looking over his shoulder at Asan. “Where are _you_ going?”

            Asan looked down at Raheed with nothing but contempt. Slowly and with emphasis he signed, _Elder Hassad is dead_.

            Raheed blinked at him, trying to process such a statement with a very sluggish brain. But it wasn’t possible. He hadn’t been _that_ sick, had he?

            _He died about an hour after you left. To go to battle is what you said._ Asan peered over at Ahmbra, who was nibbling some barren weeds in the corner of the yard. _You are a liar_.

            “I’m not a liar.” Raheed squinted, then lowered his head to his hands. “I’m too drunk for this.”

            Asan grabbed Raheed’s shoulder and jerked him to face him. His eyes were livid. _Elder Hassad is dead! Does that mean_ anything _to you?_

“It will,” Raheed replied, “when I am sober.”

            Asan jumped to a stand and dug beneath the neckline of his caftan. Raheed watched him with mild interest as Asan pulled what looked like a pendant from around his neck and threw it at Raheed. It hit Raheed’s chest and then fell into his lap. When Raheed grabbed it and looked closer, it was the Hahnar pin he’d given Asan.

            _Keep it_ , Asan said. _I don’t want it anymore_!  
            “A _san_ ,” Raheed groaned as Asan marched forward, grabbing Nutmeg’s lead line and a nearby stick to tap the ground with. At Asan’s signal, she pushed her back legs beneath her, then her front. She was already bigger than Raheed remembered. “Asan! Where are you going?”

            _To my new home_ , Asan replied.

            “Where is Elder Hassad?”

            _I already told the Elders at the temple. They took his body just before you returned._

“But—wait! Ach. Asan, help me up. Asan!”

            Asan ignored him and led Nutmeg to the front gate, Messenger trotting in tow. Raheed tried standing, but the world swirled around him and his stomach threatened to empty itself again. He had to sit back down if he didn’t want to collapse. But Asan was already heading to the front gate _._

“Wait, Asan!” Raheed called, even though he knew Asan could not see him with his back turned. “Don’t go, please.”

            Just as Asan touched the gate handle, someone knocked. Asan had no way of knowing this until he swung the gate open.

            There was a soldier standing there in uniform, wearing the mark of a corporal. He and Asan both seemed shocked by their near collision.

            “I am Corporal Waqas. I was told Captain Raheed could be found here?”

            “Oh _fuck_ ,”Raheed groaned, dropping his head between his knees.

            “Is he here?” Corporal Waqas asked.

            Asan stepped aside, pushing against Nutmeg so that she would do the same. Corporal Waqas looked further into the yard, his eyes finally resting upon a miserable and very drunk Raheed.

            “Captain Raheed?”

            “Yes, hello, Corporal,” Raheed muttered. “Forgive me if I’m not in my best form.”

            “We are heading out this morning, sir. They sent me to retrieve you.”

            “Of course they did. First I will have to stand. Asan. Asan!” He made a “come here” motion with his hand at Asan. In the presence of soldier, Asan had to swallow his pride and stride forward to help Raheed stand. Raheed swayed but used Asan to keep himself steady.

            “Waqas, get my horse.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            With both Asan and Waqas’s help, Raheed was able to swing himself into Ahmbra’s saddle. Luckily he was already packed and ready for departure, something that almost struck him as amusing. Almost.

            Raheed nudged Ahmbra forward and out the gate onto the street. Corporal Waqas had come on foot, as only officers were allowed horses. So Raheed waited until Waqas joined him in the alley.

            “Are we ready to go then sir?” Waqas asked. He seemed like a timid young man, but Raheed supposed that would change. It had changed for Raheed.

            “No, not yet. Asan. Waqas, get Asan for me. He is hard of hearing.”

            Waqas saluted and did as he was bid. Asan walked out into the alley, Nutmeg and Messenger trailing behind. He looked cautious, as if unsure to why Raheed would need him.

            “You will be coming as well, of course,” Raheed said with as much authority as he could muster.

            _I have another home to serve_ , Asan said. _Elder Hassad made arrangements._

“Elder Hassad is dead.” The words felt wrong in Raheed’s mouth, but he was just inebriated enough to feel only dull pain. “That means you’re my servant now, and I say you’re coming with me.”

            Asan stared at Raheed for a few long moments, incredulous. But when Raheed’s gaze did not waver, Asan bowed his head and nodded.

            “Good. Waqas, this is my servant, Asan. Asan, this is Corporal Waqas. Now let’s go before I throw up again.”

            “Yes sir.”

            Raheed gripped the pommel of his saddle tightly as he nudged Ahmbra into a walk. He heard the soft padding of camel strides behind him, as well as the shuffle of feet. No one spoke, but of course nothing needed to be said. They were leaving Ayllamal behind.

            There was nothing left for them here now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends book one. :) The next book should go up soon, so make sure to check back in to see/read/ignore it. It'll have more action and more romance than this part, so everyone gets what they want!


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